Changing the Equation
by JustStandingHere
Summary: Jenna Quigley never imagined her Saturday to end up like this, sealing up a tear in reality and stowing away on the TARDIS. Beats sitting on the couch with a bag of popcorn. Doctor and OC friendship fic.
1. Prologue

**Another OC fic? NOOOOOO!**

**Mwahahahaha. Loving your torture.**

**This will NOT be a romantic fic. Nope. No, sir. Interesting, no?**

**Enjoy…or not.**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

I really do not know how to start these things off.

First of all, I've got to choose a tense. That, my friend…or rather, random stranger, is very complicated. Usually I would pick past tense, seeing as all of these events have already occurred to me. However, one's past might be another's future, and another's future might be another's past…so I believe that I'll do present tense. Yes, present tense sounds good. It's all "here I am, take me or leave me". Then again, the present really isn't the present, is it? At least not for me. For you, these events are playing out right before your eyes. Huh, I never thought about that. Then again, recently my mind been all over the place, so—

Damn it, I'm rambling. He's rubbed off on me too much.

So yes, I'll try to put together the best of my memories to give you how I felt the exact moment these events happened. Mind you, they won't be picture-perfect. A quarter of the time I've been knocked out, so not everything is going to make complete sense. But trust me, okay? I've only got a good week or two, at the most, before this journey ends.

A good week or two before I say goodbye to my best friend. I'll probably never see him again.

No, you idiot, he's not going to die. I know that. I know everything that's going to happen to him. And if all goes well, there'll be no more adventures with me in the equation. Sure, he might pop in from time to time, but who knows how long that's going to take for me?

Ironically, the moron doesn't have the best sense of timing. A week for him could be twenty years for me, and who knows where I'll be then? I might be dead, or married with children and therefore too loaded with responsibilities to even given him a "hello".

So I've decided to keep a recorded log of my adventures with him, when I have the time to talk. I'm warning you, I'm not going to hold back. Yes, that means even if it's _you_ who's listening to this, I'm not going to sugarcoat my opinions of you. The truth needs to come out.

I only hope that, if it is _you_, it's after all the shit you have to deal with is done, and during that short period that you had a slight bit of peace before throwing yourself back into trouble again. I don't want to spoil anything for you. It can be very dangerous to mess with the canon storyline, or "the established time stream", as you call it.

Lucky enough, I think the friend who's recording this is on my side. Call me vain, but I think the TARDIS has finally warmed up to me. She's not intentionally messing up my breakfast or leading me down the wrong hall anymore. But maybe she's just being nice because she knows I'm going to be leaving soon. Anyways, I think we've gained enough trust in each other that she won't show her thief this until the time is right. Like or not like, she knows better than anyone not to mess with the time streams.

So, whoever is listening to this, whether you know me or not, I hope you're prepared. This will either make perfect sense or make me sound like I need to be placed in a white fluffy room.

My name is Jenna Quigley. Biologically, I am fifteen years old. I'm saying biologically, because who knows how old I'm supposed to be where we land. I may be five billion and aqua years old or -3,000. But, according to the books on human biology, I have been existing for fifteen straight years.

Descriptions are always stereotypical, or at least to me they are. It's always "Well, I have this type of hair and these eyes." No. I am not going to give you a description, at least not all at once. Over time, sure. But I do _not_ want to sound like a Facebook profile.

Currently, before I start off telling this story that will most likely turns into a children's novel or my reputation's demise, I am sitting in the console room, underneath the glass floor. He can't hear anything down here, and I've practically made this place my room since I stopped getting shocked by the wires. I even set up a hammock, Oswin Oswald style.

Crap. If it's _you_ who's listening to this, just leave that reference alone, okay? Though I'm sort of looking like her right now: lying in the hammock, talking into a recorder. Sure, the recorder is actually a voice log programmed into the TARDIS, and not a traditional recorder, but the image is pretty similar. Hopefully the conditions aren't same, though. I would rather not have my life be a lie, thank you very much.

Because these last couple of months (or weeks, or years…it's hard to tell) have been the best I've ever had in my life, and also the worst. It's a huge mess of emotions. Sometimes we've been having fun, then I've nearly died, and then there was that one instance when I skipped ahead of him and I'd been missing for a good amount of time...it's complicated, okay? To quote the one who's dancing up above me (Yes, _you_, it's dancing. And twirling. Not piloting.), "It's a big ball of wibbley-wobbley, timey-whimey…stuff."

Let me just say that I was thrown off guard. I never expected for my life to turn into something I thought was fiction. Or, now that I'm thinking about it, fan fiction. Dear God, am I a Mary Sue? Probably.

Anyways, I'm going off topic. But let me just say it was the biggest form of culture shock I believe any of the universes that are out there have ever seen. Or would it be called different dimension shock? Damn it, I've gone off topic again. I swear he's rubbed off on me too much. I've even gained a slight accent.

He's truly an amazing man, the Doctor. Amazing because he most certainly isn't perfect, and I have proof of that. But he's been trying so hard to be human when he really isn't, and after travelling with him for a while you begin to see how hard he works to keep at it. I see how worried he is about what's coming for him, and it's kind of fascinating. He doesn't show it most of the time, but you know he's running. He does a lot of running, doesn't he?

Part of me wants to tell him that it'll be alright. That he'll be awesome and figure out a way to cheat destiny. That everything will be alright, and the running will stop soon. He has nothing to fear. But I can't. He still thinks he's going to die. And he will, sort of, in a good week or two.

And I'll have to be gone by then.

So, before the inevitable goodbye, I am going to tell you a story. A story about a young girl who got put out of place. A girl that has a man with a travelling phone booth as one of her greatest friends. A naïve girl, a stupid girl. Stupid because she decided to run alongside the man who never stops to look back. Naïve because she thought everything would be fun and games. A girl that, ultimately, almost tore apart reality by simply existing somewhere else.

So let's begin, shall we?

**#**

**So good? Not good? It's only an introduction, so the real story will start very soon.**

**Review, please! I need the criticism!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	2. The Start, Part 1

**Hello, again! I hope you are enjoying this story!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

So I guess I should start this off then, yeah? Well I'll tell you, it starts off like a lot of the rest of them. Me being a completely normal human being with no one's business in mind. A simple teenage girl, worrying over boys and clothes and obsessing over rock bands and television shows. Being a geek, an art freak, who likes to hole herself up in her room and make TARDI (yes, TARDI; the plural of TARDIS, if you must know.) out of empty juice boxes. Never really socializing or going to a party every Saturday night.

Because I honestly love being alone.

There's no drama, no social protocol to go by, and no judgment. I am me and nobody can tell me otherwise. Sure, I love hanging out with my friends. But it's tiring and not always enjoyable. I can always be the ultimate source of my own entertainment.

So when my family goes to my sister's volleyball jamboree, I happily decline the offer.

"You think you'll be okay here home alone?" my mom asks. I'm pressuring her down the hallway, nearing the door. Okay, ten feet away…

"Of course," I scoff. "You've left me here alone since I was twelve. It's nothing different."

"I know, honey," she admits. "But with the disappearances that have been happening lately, I'm just a little iffy about leaving you unprotected."

I roll my eyes and move us two more steps towards the door. Okay, six feet now. "I'll set the alarm and lock the doors. I won't answer to strangers and I'll even grab Dad's pocket knife for protection, okay?" I look her straight in the eye. "I'll. Be. Fine. You go off and talk with your fellow sports moms, I'll stay here and cook hot dogs, alright?"

"You won't answer the door for any stranger, right?" she repeats, still looking a little worried. Ugh, this is going to be so much harder than I thought.

"Only if they're a police man," I tell her. She frowns. "Halley up the street says they're questioning people, trying to find witnesses."

Okay, now she's two feet away from the door, purse in hand. She smiles at me. "Well…be careful. You never know if it's a real police man."

That thought never popped into my head. Dear Lord I'm going to be paranoid. "I will."

She opens the door. "Oh! And make sure you-"

"—I'll clean the litter box," I finish with a sigh.

"And don't forget to-"

"—unload the dishwasher, yes," I say. She's out the door, so I start pushing against it, making it slowly close. "Goodbye, Mom. I love you."

"Love you, too, honey!" she says back.

The door shuts. The car starts up and backs out of the driveway. I watch the vehicle travel up the road and out of sight.

I turn around and punch the air. "FREEDOM!" I yell, running down the hallway.

Time to party.

I click the television on. Oh, Next Generation is playing. Thank you, BBC America.

Placing my iPod in a bowl to amplify the sound I turn on a random station on Pandora, turning to my chores. I'd rather get these things done early so I have more time to lie around like a couch potato than worrying about when my family is getting home.

I'm trying not to worry. I really am. Just trying to let loose and enjoy my alone time, but it's hard. I'm scared. I'm actually scared.

People started disappearing about a week ago. Being picked off every day, nobody being spared. The old couple up the street, the Henderson's daughter, Mrs. Wilson just a couple blocks away…every day somebody is being whisked away. And it's not in a pattern, either. Being out in your backyard, grabbing the mail, opening up a window for fresh air. No same type of person or location. It just had to be outside.

I witnessed this happen a couple days ago.

I didn't mean to, really. Just trying to get the cat back inside. The little bastard likes to put up a fight, so I was cautiously inching towards him on the deck of our house. I got within five feet of him and he hissed at me.

"You know, if you stopped acting like you were on your period all the time we might give you treats more," I told him, running a hand through my hair to bring it off of my face.

He meows at me and I shrug.

"Fine," I say. "But when you get kidnapped, don't blame me."

It was almost as if my life is being scripted. It was perfect timing. Because then and there, I heard a slight echo reverberate through the neighborhood, leading me eyes to the Henderson's daughter, Kylie, blasting some boy band on her iPod.

"Dear God," I groan. "They spread."

I have no tolerance for boy bands. Except for the one Justin Timberlake was in, for reasons.

I watched her for a moment, as she rode down the street on her bike. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something. Suited, tall, big headed…no, my eyes were just playing tricks on me. After all, it was so far away. It could've just been a dad coming from work.

To hide in the bushes so they could watch an eleven year-old girl.

Okay, bad reasoning. I know.

I leaned in to get a better view when my cat decided to get all territorial again and hiss at me.

"Oi, shut up," I snapped, looking down at him. Yes, I say "oi". I watch too much British television, so shut it.

I looked up, only to hear the rattle of metal on concrete. The bike was abandoned, left in the middle of the street.

Kylie Henderson was gone. And so was the watcher.

Of course, I didn't tell anybody. Not yet. I've been waiting for the police to show up. With my parents, they might say I should've told them sooner, that I should've called somebody instead of going back into my room and reevaluating everything that I had just witnessed. My friends…well, my friends are off at cheerleading practice or making out with each other. So, busy.

With the police, I can have a direct way of helping the case. Not having the message relayed, but going to the source.

And if an officer arrives on my doorstep, I'll answer gladly. Unless Mom is right and the kidnapper dresses up like a police officer when it isn't deciding to look dapper (I love that word, you know).

I start washing the dishes, singing along to the song currently blasting its way through all of the noise I've created.

"_I dodge the blast and apologize for collateral damage!_" I yell out loud, holding a plate in the air. I bring the plate back down and drag the sponge across the surface. "_Hey mister, the bellman the says-_"

I'm interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

I quickly turn off of the music and shut off the water. I peer around the corner to inconspicuously view the front hallway, the door included.

I try my best not to show my face while I search for the ringer's identity through the window next to the door. You know, stranger danger and all that.

A young man peers through the window. He looks like he's fresh out of college, with short black hair pale skin.

I can see his police badge reflect sunlight into the house.

He rings the doorbell again, and I rush to turn off the alarm. I run down the hall and unlock the door, opening it up a smidge so that I can poke my head out.

"Hello?" I ask hesitantly, still a little wary.

His eyes dart to the stereotypical welcome signs my mom has put up before he notices me. "Oh, hello." His voice sounds a little off.

It's silent. "Uh…not to be rude or anything," I say, opening the door a little more so that I can stop leaning. "But may I ask what you rang my doorbell for?"

"I'm with the police," he states simply. I figure out what's weird with his voice.

"But…you're British," I point out simply. The little voice that tells me that I'm an idiot chimes in. _Wow, that wasn't blunt and insensitive. Way to go. He could've just emigrated here from the U.K., not all British people live in Britain. Wow. Just wow._

I wait for him to be offended. For the hurt look to come across his face. But it doesn't. He simply looks surprised.

"Ah…I'm in an exchange program from Scotland Yard," he explains quickly.

I frown. "Funny. They do exchange programs with police departments?"

"Apparently so," he tells me. "Anyhow, I am Officer Jonathan Martin." He extends his hand, and I shake it hesitantly. The guy seems a little…off, or something. I don't know, but it just seems like not everything about him is right.

"Jenna Quigley," I respond, dropping his hand.

"I am here to investigate the string of disappearances that have been happening recently," he explains, hands behind his back. I notice that he doesn't have a holster for a gun. Odd. "Have you seen anything suspicious going on lately? People out of place, mysterious events…"

I look around, just to check if anybody is watching. Especially that creepy business man guy. Kylie couldn't see him at first, so there is a big chance I didn't catch him either.

"I have," I start, gulping. "I have seen…one thing. But I'd rather not discuss it outside, you know? It's a suburban neighborhood, word travels fast."

He nods and starts to walk in, but I stop him.

"'Scuse me," Officer Martin says. "Is something wrong?"

"How do I know you're a real policeman?" I ask him. "After all, the kidnapper could be anybody. Last I saw he was in a business suit-"

"Business suit?" he interrupts, looking slightly worried.

I shake my head. "Not the point. Do you have any credentials? I just want to make sure you're legit and not some…imposter psychopath or something."

He smiles reassuringly and pulls out a black wallet for his pocket. "See? Credentials." He flips it open. For a moment, it looks like a real police ID, with the picture and emblem and name and everything. But it flashes blank and then back to the words again. The words start to morph, identifying him with multiple professions. Knight. Physician. Stage critic. National Cheese Day judge. Then back to police officer again. Almost seems like he's got a piece of…

I put my hand on my head. "Whoa…" I mutter.

Officer Martin looks at his ID, taps it twice, and then looks back to me. "Is something wrong?"

I shake my head, warding off the migraine pressing on my head. "Sorry, must've been a trick of the light. I just thought that…never mind, it's stupid. Impossible, really." I clear my throat. "Well, you seem legit. Come on in."

I open the door all the way and lead him inside the house. I look back at him to see him examining every piece of knickknackery (is that even a word? Oh well, it is now) and furniture we pass.

"How…homey-womey," he comments.

I try not to laugh, a flurry of references flooding my brain. "Yeah. You can sit down on the couch and flip through the channels, if you want. We've got cable."

He nods. "Thank you."

I head towards the kitchen. "You want anything? Coffee? An apple? Tea? I think we've got tea somewhere…"

His face scrunches up. "Not a huge coffee fan. And apples are rubbish. But yes, I'll go for some tea."

I nod and open the pantry, scouring for any kind of tea packets we have. Luckily, this is Portland, and we get tea packages all the time from friends that we never bother to use. "Uh, we've got green tea, ginseng, earl grey, black tea…and that's about it."

"I'll take some earl grey, thank you very much," he says with a smile. He settles himself on the couch while I dust off the kettle we haven't used since December.

"Once I make this up I'll tell you what I saw," I tell him. "Just want to be a good person and make sure you aren't starving yourself going up and down the street all day." I finish dusting it off and set it up the sink; turning on the faucet and letting the water run until the kettle is a quarter full. I put on the cap and set it on the stove, turning the dial on high.

"You are doing an excellent job of that, thank you," Officer Martin says.

I look over to him. "You seem a little young to be a policeman," I notice.

He blinks, but quickly gives a humor-filled smile. "Just out of the academy."

"That's cool," I say.

It's silent for a good couple of moments, the only sound being the methane fire burning. Awkward…

"You're hair…" he starts, obviously trying to continue the conversation. "That's…interesting."

I pick up a lock between two fingers. "Meh. Decided to dye it something interesting. Red and strawberry blonde seemed cool enough. Better than that dull dark blonde color I had before."

He nods. "Okay then…"

I point out the remote. "Like I said before, you can flip through the channels, if you want. You sure you don't want anything more than tea?"

His face brightens up. "Got any Jammie Dodgers?" he asks.

I snort. "Nope. They're not very popular in America." I pause, smiling. "Don't have any fish fingers and custard either."

His eyes go wide. "Pardon?" His voice is a little squeaky.

"It's a reference," I explain. I frown and sigh. "A reference you obviously don't get. Like everybody else."

He exhales in relief. "Oh." Officer Martin looks up to the television. "What's this?"

I look at the screen as well. "Star Trek," I say cautiously. "Next Generation. I'm surprised you don't recognize it."

He shakes his head. "I don't know anything about this."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, come on. You've to at least recognize some phrases of it. Or characters. Captain Picard? Data?"

He exhales and shakes his head. "Nope, sorry."

"'Make it so, number one?' Worf? You've got to remember Worf. Or Spock."

"I believe I recognize the name Spock," he says. "But Worf, I do not. Spock is a Vulcan, am I correct? They are a peaceful species."

I laugh. "Yeah. 'Live long and prosper'." I make the hand motion. "So obviously you've seen Star Trek before. Maybe the earlier series."

"Yeah…possibly," he says slowly. "I just…don't watch too much television. I have been recently, but only here and there. And that was back at the T—at home."

I frown at his slip up and concentrate on him. For a second, his image flickers into something else. Or someone else, specifically. Taller, brown hair…no. I stop thinking and he goes back to Officer Martin again, and my migraine returns.

"Ugh," I groan leaning against the counter.

He stands up. "Are you ill?"

I shake off the headache again. "No. No, just thought I saw something…again. I don't think I got enough sleep last night and my eyes are playing tricks on me."

He sits back down. "Anyways, I've only seen bits of shows here and there. I haven't had much time since I came to America."

I nod. "Makes sense." I pause, my moment of confusion bringing out an idea. "Well you've got to have seen Doctor Who, at least."

"Doctor Who?" he asks, knitting his eyebrows together.

I gape. "You've never heard of it? It's been running for some fifty-odd years already!"

"I've only seen snippets of shows," he reminds me. "Not very good with titles."

The kettle starts to whine and I turn off the stove. I pick up the tea packet and rip it open, placing it in a mug and pouring the water in. "Well, it's pretty well-known. I mean, sure it has a huge fanbase here in the U.S.A., but it's gigantic over in the U.K."

"Maybe I've seen a clip or two," he admits. "Could you give me some information about it?"

"Well, the theme song's pretty recognizable. You know…" I do a bad imitation of the opening theme, twirling a little and only stopping to open the pantry. "Want any sugar?"

"Just a spoonful, please," he says. Jesus, he's polite. Are all British people like this? "And I'm sorry, but that tune isn't ringing any bells."

What about the noise?" I ask. I continue my streak of bad imitations by attempting the TARDIS landing noise. "_Fwa-whoosh. Fwa-whoosh_." I place a spoonful of sugar in the mug, stir, and take the tea bag out. I walk over to the police officer and hand it to him.

He laughs. "And what noise would that be?" He starts sipping the tea.

"The TARDIS noise," I explain.

He immediately chokes on the drink a little. "Could you repeat that?"

"So you _have_ heard of the show," I note.

"Yes, very nearly possibly," he admits quickly. "But did you say…_TARDIS_ noise?"

"Yup," I say, popping the 'p'. "TARDIS. Stands for Time and Relative-"

"Dimension in Space," he finishes quietly. "Yeah."

"Good, you recognize it," I say.

"Oh, trust me, I do recognize _that_," he reassures me. I sit myself down on the couch just to the right of him. "But if you could elaborate more on the plot, maybe I can see if I know it."

I raise an eyebrow. "Aren't you interested in the disappearances?" I ask.

"Of course I am. And we'll get to it very soon. But if you could, please just tell me what this 'Doctor Who' show is about, just for kicks…"

I smile. "I could go off for hours on this topic, so I'm warning you," I warn him. I inhale. "So, Doctor Who revolves around an alien named the Doctor. He travels throughout all time and space in a blue telephone booth-"

I hear him mutter something his breath. It sounds suspiciously similar to "co-lease locks".

"—or police box, actually. But the thing is, it is infinitely bigger on the inside, with a console room and hallways and bedrooms and all that. The Doctor travels with all these companions, who leave after a series or two. Mostly it's because of actors getting too old and needing to move on and all, but it's still harsh on the heart. Whenever the Doctor dies he regenerates, and practically gets a new face and slightly different personality. But he's still got all the same memories." I pause and take a deep breath. "He can only regenerate thirteen times, and he's on his eleventh as of now. The whole show started back in the sixties and went through into a nineties before it got cancelled, but it returned in 2005 and has been going strong ever since."

"Wow," he mutters. "You sure know…a lot."

I shrug. "I've only seen the revived show, not the stuff with the first through eighth Doctor. But yeah, the seventh series just premiered a couple weeks back. You should watch it sometime, or record it."

"Maybe," he mutters. "How interesting." He takes a sip of his tea. "So tell me what you know about the disappearances."

I nod. "Okay, so you know how Kyle Henderson disappeared a couple days back? Well…I sort of saw her being taken."

"Sort of?" Officer Martin asks.

"It's complicated," I explain. "You see, I was on my back deck right there trying to get the cat inside when I saw her biking down the street. And then I saw…" My voice fades away.

"Saw what?" he asks, concerned.

I smile. "It's funny that we're talking about Doctor Who, because the kidnapper kind of looked like one of the aliens they've faced."

"And?" he presses on.

"And…okay, don't call me crazy, alright?" I ask him. "But they kind of looked like the Silence."

Officer Martin visibly goes rigid.

"So you know what those are," I conclude, seeing his reactions. "Yeah, they're freaky little bastards."

"Language!" he scolds.

I laugh, turning red. "Sorry, I'm a bit of a potty mouth sometimes. But yeah, they looked like them. Business suit, pale, big-headed. I looked away for a second and then both of them were gone, the kidnapper and Kylie."

"So you know what the Silence look like?" he asks, looking straight at me with a slightly crazed look in his eye. "You _remember_ them?"

"Oh, har-der-har-har," I comment. "This is serious, no time for jokes. And I _knew_ you've seen the show!"

"Jenny-"

"Jenna," I correct.

"Jenna, this is very serious, believe me. You remember what the Silence look like?"

"I—well, yeah," I answer. "But it's not like that was an actual Silence or anything. The Silence are fictional, they don't exist. They don't have the same effect on people as they do in the show, or we'd have missed entire episodes!"

Officer Martin stands up and starts pacing. He mutters a few words under his breath, making hand motions and stopping only to draw some things in the air, his back to me.

He twirls around to face me. "Jenna," he says. "You wouldn't happen to have any wooded area around here, would you?"

I roll my eyes. "It's Oregon, what do you think?"

"I _am_ thinking," he responds. "Thinking that I may know where they are taking everybody. Does this wooded area have a water source?"

"We've got the creek," I tell him. "The pathway's just down the street, if you want me to show you."

"And by that creek," he asks, "is there any sort of building?"

I frown. "A shack…I think. It's kind of hidden away, but I've seen it before."

He claps his hands together. "Good! Brilliant! No, not brilliant. Amazing! Yes, amazing."

"What's amazing?" I ask.

He smiles. "I know where they are. Where they're being taken. Everybody. You just need to lead me to it."

I raise my eyebrows. "I do?"

"Yes, you do. You, Jenna Quigley, are going to lead me to where they're all being taken. Might even stop the tear, if possible…"

"Tear? What tear?" I ask.

He smiles maniacally at me. "Grab your shoes and lock the door behind you."

Officer Martin walks down the hallway and out the door. Slightly confused, I grab the house key and tie on my Converse, walking out and locking the front door.

"So where are we going?" I ask.

"To the shack," he answers simply. "Quickly, as well. We need to hurry before it's too late."

I gulp. "Too late? What?"

"No time to answer," he says. "Just run." He bounds down the driveway and onto the sidewalk, me trailing behind him.

"You're crazy!" I yell at him.

"A madman, yes," he tells me. "But not crazy. Geronimo!"

**#**

**I'll try to update as soon as possible, what with my computer being a huge pile of belch. I hope to see you soon!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	3. The Start, Part 2

**Hello lovelies! Time for a new installment!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

He's running ahead of me, looking like a five year old in a toy shop. It's odd, because it really doesn't fit him. Officer Martin looks more like the serious type, not the kind of guy to shout a battle cry and bound down the street.

He runs faster than I've seen a lot of people run before. Even for a police man, the speed he's going at is unbelievable. Twenty seconds in and he's already around the curb, heading into the street that lies just behind my house.

"Hey, dude!" I call. Yeah, yeah. Not very formal. "Wait up!"

I get no response.

He continues to run, and after a while I catch up, stopping him and finally resting. It takes a bit of willpower not to collapse onto the concrete.

"Hold…up," I pant. "Shouldn't I…be leading…you?"

He looks at me in a mixture of confusion and realization. "Oh, yes!" he realizes. "The lead the way. Did I go in the right direction? I surely hope I did, just taking a lucky guess and going with my gut and all-"

I look at him in exasperation, which is enough to make him shut up. "No need to continue," I tell him. "I get it. You've circled the neighborhood once or twice; you know the area well enough."

He nods. "Yes. Of course."

"Question is…why do you need me, then?" I ask.

He smiles. "Ah, you see that is specifically classified. But we need to a move on. Come along!"

"Uh uh," I say, shaking my head. I have the right to know. Now _why_ do you need me to come with you? Can't you just bring your task force?"

"I'll tell you in a moment, once we get further along, alright? I don't know how much time we have left."

"Sure, sure." I exhale, finally feeling reenergized. "Man, you run pretty fast. You could be in the Olympics."

"Let's just say that I have experience," he answers vaguely. "Besides, the Olympics get old after a while."

"London was good," I point out. "Crazy, yes, but good."

"Oh, I know," he says. "I was there."

I gape. "But that was just a couple weeks ago! You said you've been living here for months!"

He shrugs. "Can't a man visit home every once and a while?" The minute he says it, something looks different in him. His brow furrows and he gulps. "Come on, let's go."

Officer Martin picks up the pace again, running ahead of me as we bolt down the street. We pass the idealistic cookie cutter houses as they become a blur of pastels and hybrid cars. At the end of the street lies a cul-de-sac, barren of any surrounding property. It's really just used to go cool tricks on your bike or turn around because you've gone down the wrong road, which happens a lot.

Off to the side of the circle of cement a gravel pathway starts, leading down to a shaded, damp area. We keep running, the sound of our shoes scraping the gravel against itself echoing through the air.

The odd policeman skids to a halt, catching me by surprise and causing me to almost crash into him.

"Oi, watch it," I exclaim, dusting myself off.

"Did you really just say that?" he asks. "It sounds weird hearing an American say it."

I roll my eyes. "I watch BBC America a lot, what else is new? Why'd you stop?"

"Can't you hear it?" he asks. "It's faint, but detectable."

Neither of us talks and all we're left with is silence. Not complete silence, though. A small whine is filling the air, something I wouldn't have been have to notice if neither of us had shut up.

"What is that?" I ask.

"A signal," Officer Martin answers simply. "They're trying to send a message."

"And what would that message be, exactly?" I inquire, very curious.

"Something that is very, _very_ not good if it gets through," he tells me.

I eye him, concentrating. His image flickers again, for a second, and the migraine returns. But I choose to ignore it.

"Who _are_ you?" I ask/yell. "Honestly, you drag me down here with nothing but vague answers and a weird way of making my head hurt whenever I do a double take at you!"

He frowns. "I'm surprised you haven't seen it yet," he tells me. "Maybe you're less clever than I thought."

"Hey, I'm clever!" I shout. I lower my voice. "Just not quick to catch on."

"Still, it's a wonder. You act like you know me so well and here I am, right in your face!" He steps up to me and smirks. "And you still can't tell. That's the thing about you all; you're quick to figure out another solution."

I shake my head and back up. "You said you'd tell me why you need me. So tell me."

"Ah, I don't think we're that close enough to actually discuss this," he explains.

I raise an eyebrow. "And what, exactly, would be 'close enough'?"

He smiles sheepishly. "When you can't back out."

I cross my arms over my chest. "You tell me or I don't go, and whatever plan you have for me is finished."

Officer Martin looks around and pulls a small black box with metal spikes on either side.

"What is this?" he asks. "What do you see?"

I look at him. Is he blind? Or insane? Most likely insane. "A taser," I tell him.

He shakes his head. "No no no no! Concentrate. _What do you see?_"

I blink, raising my eyebrows at him. He looks at me with so much seriousness he could pass for Snape, if got the wig and the nose.

I squint, focusing all my attention on the taser. The image wavers to something else. Long, sleek, silverfish…

I stop concentrating and the headache returns double this time because I still haven't recovered from a couple minutes ago. "Son of a bitch…" I mutter.

"So you saw it, then?" he asks.

"Yes," I answer immediately. I realize my mistake. "No. I don't know!"

"If you could give me a straight answer then things will move along a lot easier," he says.

"Oh, look who's talking," I say. "Besides, it's insane. Not real. I mean sure, they have toys, but tasers just don't immediately turn into…to…whatever I saw!" I cover up my mistake, trying to keep a serious face.

"You were about to say it!" he points out, grinning.

"No, I wasn't," I deny. "Sure, yeah, it'd be really cool if it was real, but it's not. Maybe I'm just going insane. Like this is some big joke." I pause there. "That's it. That's what it is. This is some big practical joke to play on me, isn't it? Next thing I know I'm going to be wearing polka dot bloomers and a tiara and everyone's going to come out laughing."

"Why would you assume that? Of course it's not a joke, this is very much a real thing, and we need to stop it."

"Oh, no way, mister," I tell him. "Because none of whatever's going on is probably real. This is either some sick joke or—or a test to see if I need to go to the mental ward or something!"

He grumbles. "Why are you all so stubborn? Especially you. Why do all of you have to be some insecure and paranoid all the time? Why do all of you decide not to trust in people?"

I blink. "Because then it's easier to not get hurt," I explain.

Wait, why the hell am I telling this guy? I've known him for, what, an hour? Maybe a half of an hour? I study him, but not enough to get another delusion again. He's just a face that looks trustworthy, I guess. Someone who can tell things to.

Maybe I'm just finally losing it.

He stares at me, looking a little like he's in awe. "You're so young," he says. "You shouldn't be thinking that."

"I'm fifteen," I tell him, raising an eyebrow. "I know enough to think about stuff like that."

"Would you believe me if I told you, honestly, that all of this is real, and you're the one who can stop this?" he asks.

"Sounds like something I'd rather do than sit around on a Saturday night," I tell him. "But if you're talking about honesty, can't count on it. From what I've gathered, everybody lies."

He grins. "Think I don't know that?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Why am I here?" I ask again.

"I told you, you can see through them," he tells me. "And don't deny me, because I know you can. With the taser, the ID, even me. You've always got the same face."

"And the hell of a headache," I grumble.

He waves it off. "Minor side effect," Officer Martin tells me. "After all, I wouldn't expect you to be _completely_ insusceptible to perception filters. Sure the light waves are off but only-"

"Hold up," I say, stopping him. He talks way too fast, like all his sentences are just long words of techno-babble and science-y things. "Perception filter?"

"Yes, of course," he says. "What else? Oh, and the psychic paper, which works on the same principles. Manipulation of the senses and all that."

"But those are fictional," I tell him. "Not real."

He rolls his eyes. "What have I been trying to tell you? Of course it's real! Just not here." I stare at him, wondering how if it was possible for an escaped psych ward patient to acquire a police uniform. His face brightens. "You know what? I'll show you. Mind you, probably can't show you mine. They might find me a bit too early, and in the wrong place at that. But I do think I've got one in my pocket…" He fishes through the pouch on the front of his uniform.

"Who's they?" I ask.

"My my, you ask a lot of questions. Curiosity, that's good. Dangerous, mind you, but good." He pulls out a watch and flips open the back. "See? Perception filter. Mine's in the police badge."

I see the cochlear-like pattern attributed to any of the devices seen on the show. I study it, leaning in close when he suddenly snaps it shut, surprising me.

"That could just be special effects," I say hesitantly. Very authentic special effects.

"Nah, look. I'll set it for…oh, yes. I'll set it for telephone pole," he says. He places the watch on a nearby tree and the whole plant morphs into a metal telephone pole.

_Of course it's a telephone pole_, my mind says. _It's always been a telephone pole._ No, that's absurd. Why would a telephone pole be in the middle of the woods. _Why not?_

The image flickers back and forth, and my head starts to hurt again as the different memories switch back and forth. I groan and put my head in my hands.

"The memory factor is kicking in," he realizes. He takes off the watch and the pole turns back into a tree, like it was supposed to be. I blink, frowning. My heart rate speeds up.

"It's real," I whisper.

"Eureka!" the policeman yells, though I don't know if I can call him a policeman anymore. "Huh, never tried that word. I like that word. I'm going to start using 'eureka' now."

I look over to him, still in slight shock. "So what are you? Time Agent? Torchwood? UNIT?" I pause. "Jack Harkness?"

"Do I look like a flirt to you?" he asks me.

I snort. "No."

"Exactly. Besides, you saw me, didn't you? You should know who I am."

"It was a second that I saw you flicker," I explain to him. "Maybe less than that." I sigh. "So, I can see through perception filters, and there is huge, but not entirely possible, chance that everything from _Doctor Who_ is real. Okay…okay…"

"You know, you're taking this surprisingly well," the mysterious man points out.

"Oh, I'm screaming on the inside," I tell him. "You just can't see it."

"Better than disturbing the locals," he says with a smile.

"Oh, they'd have a fit," I say with a small laugh. "So I can see past perception filters, what use is that to you?"

"You know that shack? Think a little harder about it."

I frown. The picture of it, black and dilapidated, turns into an open clearing, and then back again.

"It doesn't exist," I realize. "The shack doesn't exist. Why doesn't it exist?"

"Because it's a perfect cover up for what's _actually_ there," he explains.

"It's a spaceship, isn't it?" I ask him.

"It's always a spaceship, so what else could there be?" he says. It's a little bitter, but with anticipation. "So are you still thinking this is a practical joke?"

"Yeah, a little," I admit. I crack a smile finally. "But considering the fact that this is all really cool anyways, I don't care."

"That's the right thinking! Come on, we've got a message to stop!"

I grin wider. If I'm going to fall, I'm going to fall hard. At least I'll have had fun.

I pick up the pace as Officer Martin (can I call him that anymore? Is that even his real name?) turns a corner, going towards the boardwalk. The sounds of grave grinding against gravel turn into the taps of rubber soles on wood. I run down the boardwalk until I see the man holding his taser in the air, studying it. The high-pitched whine is getting louder; so much that I have to cover my ears.

I look at the taser and image flickers again.

"We're close," he explains. "And the message is almost done being sent."

"What message is it, exactly?"

"They're sending reinforcements. Planning an invasion."

I look around. "So are you a Time Agent?"

He smirks. "Something like that."

"I mean, I would assume you're the Doctor," I admit. "But last time I checked, he's a little busy at the moment."

"Oh? And what would he be busy with, per se?" he asks, slightly intrigued. "No details, mind you. Might…spoil the fun if I meet him."

"Somewhere in the Wild West," I tell him.

"Oh, that sounds fun," he says. He examines something on the taser. I try to get the image again, but my head starts to hurt more. I grit my teeth and exhale. "Don't concentrate too much, save that for the shack. I don't know how much you can see past."

"Don't concentrate," I repeat. "Got it." I shake the pain away again as he grabs my arm and tugs me along. "Hey, get your hands off me!"

"It's just down the way!" he explains. "And you're slow!"

"Oi, I'm sorry I'm not Usain Bolt!" I shout sarcastically. My feet trip over themselves.

"Oh, he's a lovely fellow. Doesn't like lemons, I found out."

I stare at him, still concentrating on not scraping my legs against the ground. "We can write the memoir later," I say. "And you can-"

He halts. We've stopped in an area more shaded than before.

"Stop now," I complete, staring at what Officer Martin is staring.

The old, dilapidated shack is just a few meters away from the water. It's silent, except for the whining, which is at its highest now.

"That's the structure, correct?" he asks.

"Correct," I answer.

He nods. "Good. Now, in the next couple of minutes, things may get a little…odd."

I snort. "I just found out everything from a fictional television show is real, I don't think it can get any odder than that."

"Just watch it," he mumbles. He pulls out a marker from his front shirt pocket.

"How did that fit in there?" I ask.

He smirks. "Don't think you don't know." He rolls up his sleeves. "This should work, if I don't drop the marker. You can remember them, but I can't. The way they telepathically manipulate brainwaves doesn't match up to the neurological signals sent in your brain-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" I ask in a yell.

"SHHHHHH!" he hushes. "They might hear us."

"Who might hear us?" I ask.

He's looking over to the other side of the creek, eyes glassy. Without taking his eyes away from their position, he uncaps the marker and writes a line on his hand.

"What's that for?" I ask. He doesn't respond. "Hello-o, Mister Time Agent guy." I tap him. "Yo, whoever you are." Still nothing. I sigh and muster up all the volume I can get without blowing our apparent cover. "OI, TIME DUDE!"

He blinks and turns to me. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"What's that for?" I ask, pointing to the black line on his hand. "The only time that ever happened in the show was for-"

"No time, we've got to go," he interrupts. "Now." He starts tripping over the ferns and branches, loudly making his way down the hill to the shack.

Wary, I still follow him. "What happened to 'they might hear us'?"

"Dunno," he answers. "I've just got a hunch that everything's okay. They're not here, right? Right. None of them in sight."

We reach the bed of the creek, staring at the rubble before us.

"So this is where I come in?" I guess.

He nods. "Just concentrate for as long as you can until we reach the door. Perception filters can be misleading. An apparent door could actually be a wall."

I nod and look at his marked hand again. "You never told me what that was for. The only time I saw that in the show was…" I trail off, realizing the insinuations. "Time Dude?"

He grimaces at the nickname. "Yeah?"

"I don't think we're alone," I tell him. I start looking around, trying to find them. They might have perception filters all over the place.

He smiles. "Ah, you're being paranoid again. Come on, let's go check this out."

"Time Dude!" I call out. What? Jonathan Martin probably isn't his real name. He keeps moving forward. "And you call me stubborn…" I catch up with him and stand next to him once again.

"Concentrate," he tells me, still looking at the worn building on the side of the creek. "We need to find the door."

"But the-" I start, trying to warn him that _they_ are here. I keep looking around, trying to find them. A flash of black and white behind the trees catches my eye. What the…

"The fate of the willpower of the human race and the very fabric of reality depends on you finding that door," Time Dude tells me. He pauses. "No pressure."

I glare at him and look back at the house. I start studying it—every curve in the wood, every chipped board—and the image falters. No, I've got to keep it. The fabric of reality is a pretty big thing. The image keeps switching, amking my head hurt, but I keep my eyes open. The flickering slows down until I'm faced with a sliver pod a couple stories high. Some of the supposed standing trees are split and toppled over.

I examine the whole structure, looking around. I find a hatch just a few feet away from me. "I found it," I tell him.

He claps. "Brilliant!" he yells. A moment of silence passes. "Where is it?"

I look around once more. Another flash of black and white. "Uh…let me lead you."

The pain in my head is growing, but I ignore it. I steady myself against the flickering wall of the spaceship and grip the edge of the door, grabbing the handle and opening it with surprising ease.

Suspicious ease, I might add.

The inside is all high-tech, with dimmed hallways that have purple-lighted walls. I step in, stopping the concentrating. Everything stays the same.

"Amazing," the mysterious man says from behind me. "A whole ship, maybe-"

"Two stories high," I finish through my teeth. "Yeah, I saw."

He walks up next to me and examines me. "Are you alright?"

I nod, gulping. "Yeah, it's just that headache. But it's temporary, right? Should go away in a couple of minutes."

He frowns as I lean against the wall.

I glare at him. "I'm fine. Let's just go. That whining noise is becoming a pain in the ass."

We start walking. "You know, you should really learn to control your mouth," he says.

I snort. "Thanks, Sister Mary Rose," I comment sarcastically.

"My name is not Mary Rose," he tells me.

I ignore his obliviousness. "Do you know how much farther?"

"It should be just around the corner," he says, peering around the end of the hallway. "Ah, yes. There we are." He points to a large door. "That is where the main control room is."

"Then let's go," I order. "My family will be home in an hour or two, and frankly I am _not _in the mood to die today."

We walk up to the doors and then open with ease. The control room is a large dome with six coffin-like structures with a sphere in them. Everything is dimmed and dark.

Well, shit.

"I recognize this place," I whisper. The headache still isn't going away. In fact, it's growing.

"What?" he asks.

"I-I recognize this place," I say louder. I gulp. "Time Dude, what's that mark for?"

He looks down on his hand. "Oh no. No, no, no."

"_The girl_," a voice says out of nowhere. "_The girl is here. The one no one expects._"

It's gravelly and deep.

"Jenna," the man says. "There's another reason I brought you here."

We're started to back away from the doorways, which are filling with shadows. "And what was that?"

"You remember."

The headache is getting worse. My vision is starting to blur as fuzzy bits of black and white start appearing, repeating the same thing.

"_Capture the girl. Capture the girl._"

I blink and try to keep the pain away, but it's in vain.

"Time Dude?" I manage to grind out.

"What?" he asks.

"I don't feel so…"

You know how I said earlier I was knocked out a fourth of the time?

This is one of those times.

**#**

**Yay, cliffhangers!**

**Anybody agree? No? Well then…**

**I would very much appreciate reviews. I need to know if I'm doing this story alright, and if Jenna is being too Mary-Sue-ish. If you could do that, I'll be forever grateful.**

**Love you all!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	4. The Start, Part 3

**Hello, guys!**

**I really need reviews. I don't know if I'm actually doing a good job or not. Thank you to all of you who have reviewed already, you make my day brighter with every word :) **

**But, other than my usual whining, enjoy the story!**

**I'm sorry that this chapter is shorter, but I needed to stop it at one point.**

**#**

Blacking out isn't fun. At all.

Of course, it's not the whole "being knocked unconscious" thing that is the worst, but more of waking up. It's the most confusing and disorienting feeling in the world.

The same thing happens when you take a nap. You conk out, and tell yourself it's only going to be ten minutes. But when you finally open your eyes, it's darker. Your muscles are stiff. And you're alone, most of the time. You don't know what time it is, how much you've missed, and where you are in the first five seconds at the least.

Can you picture it? All that confusion?

Now add being strapped down to a table with five Silence around you.

Yeah, not a very pleasant thing to wake up to.

The headache is gone, thank God. But my wrists and ankles are starting to hurt. Jesus, they strapped me down hard. I look up to see the five aliens staring at me, cocking their heads slowly. They're even uglier in person.

"Alright, one of you son of a bitches is going to let me go," I say. "You can stop the joking now. Or you can wake me up. I'm done with this, so _let me go_."

They answer with silence. No pun intended.

I set my head back down with a thud. Apparently, back on their home planet (wherever that is), they had never heard of pillows.

I grit my teeth and wait for the pain to go away before I start speaking again.

"You know, you guys would get a lot more done if you _talked_ more," I tell them. "Then again, you are called the Silence. Can't chat away when you've got a name like that." I pause and look up. They're still staring. "You can stop me rambling anytime. I'm honestly just trying to keep my sanity."

They don't do anything. God, they're either very calculated or just very rude. I sigh.

"You're not going to say something?" I ask them. "Anything? Are you waiting for me to scream in terror? Because believe me, I'm afraid. You guys are right up there with the Weeping Angels." I tug on my restraints. "And possibly being a test subject hasn't been my goal in life, either."

"_Silence will fall when the question is asked_," the Silence finally say. I don't know which one, considering they don't exactly have mouths and they're all cocking their heads back and forth slowly.

"Yeah, I got that a whole series ago," I tell them.

"_The unexpected shall follow the guided task_," they continue.

I blink. "That wasn't in the show," I whisper. "You guys don't seem to be the type to talk in rhyme, either."

"_The unexpected shall follow the guided task_," they repeat.

"Oh yeah? And what task would that be?" I ask, trying to keep up my confidence. They're closing in on me, taking slow steps. My heart is practically forcing its way out of my ribcage.

"_Change the timeline_," they tell me. "_Destroy the Doctor._"

I look around. "Okay, there are two problems with that. One, I don't know the Doctor. Well, I know _about _him, but I don't know him personally. And two, you're little 'forget me but do as I say' trick doesn't work on me. And neither will this whole invasion thing either."

"_Merely a distraction_," they tell me. "_Something to lure you in. You _will _destroy the Doctor._"

"Bite my fleshy human ass," I retort.

"_You will the destroy the Doctor. Whether you like it or not. Whether you know you will or not. You will destroy the Doctor._"

They're getting closer, encircling the table I'm on. The façade falls. I start hyperventilating.

Where's your crazy Time Agent when you need him?

"Where's Officer Martin?" I ask them. "He was next to me when I passed out. Where is he?"

They don't answer, but make those creepy clicking noises.

"Officer Martin!" I call out. "Time Dude!"

They're surrounding me now, looking over me. They look like they're going to do something. But what? Am I going to be subjected to brainwashing like River? God, I hope not. I mean, it'd be cool to meet the Doctor, but I don't exactly want to try to disembowel him the moment I see him.

"HELP!" I call out. "SOMEBODY, PLEASE! I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS, JUST STOP IT NOW!"

Yeah, I'm still under the delusion that this is somehow an elaborate prank. Looking back on it I have to say that he was right, I was stubborn. Still am, actually.

"_Change the timeline_," they hiss. _"Destroy the Doctor._" They're just above me, creepy sunken sockets practically peering into my soul. I can't run away, can't turn my head away and think this is all a dream. Nope. I'm stuck.

It's then that the lights decide to go out.

Great, are we adding Weeping Angels into the mix? Because if we're going to have a terrifying Doctor Who monster party, you better do it right.

The air crackles and there's a terrible hissing noise that echoes the room. The metal table tingles slightly and I feel the hairs on my arms and legs stand up.

"It's amazing how vulnerable you are when your floors are currently flowing electricity into every single light bulb that lights up the walkway," a voice comments. It's familiar, but frankly I'm too confused, terrified, and slightly happy to care. "And how stupid you are when it's so easy to hack."

"What happened?" I ask.

"Silence captured who when you passed out," he explains. "Knocked me out, too, but only when they zapped me with enough electricity to power the Empire State Building. Shouldn't have strained you, messed with your brain."

"Where are you?" I ask. I hear footsteps.

"Walking towards you," Officer Martin explains. I can tell it's him, even if his voice is strange. Same inflection, same emotion, same 'I'm slightly better than you' feel to it. Don't know why he's sounding so weird. Maybe it's a side effect of being around mind control aliens or something. I don't know, I'm not a medical student. "I'm going to free you. Once I do, you need to follow me and not ask anything, got it? Save the questions for later."

"Why?" I ask.

"The whole ship is going to be destroyed in approximately six minutes," he explains nonchalantly.

I stammer. "W-What about the other people? Kylie Henderson, the old couple up the street?"

"They're safe and sound, back in their homes with no memory of what happened," he tells me. "All have to returned to exactly where they disappeared at. Simple, really. All of them had transportation devices on their wrists, that's how they got here in the first place. The Silence ambushed them and sent them over here. They've been in cryostasis all week, being used as an energy source to power the ship, along with the hydroelectricity being provided by the creek. Trans-dimensional travel drains a ship's power like that."

While he's saying this, I hear a small whirring noise down near my ankle. The restraint is broken. He does this with the other three bands and I sit up in the darkness, rubbing my sore wrists.

"Why do you sound funny?" I ask. "I mean, you sound the same…but different. Is this another side effect or whatever?"

"They stole my perception filter," he explains. "You're listening to the real me now."

"I see," I say. "Okay. I officially believe you; all of this is completely real."

"Officially?" he asks.

"I had my doubts before," I admit. I pause. "Did you manage to stop the message?"

"Of course," he tells me. "Well, not yet. The energy being used to send that message is currently reversing on itself, propelling back into the main frame of the ship. The telepathic instruction to travel over to this dimension has been reversed as well."

"This place is going to implode on itself," I realize. "It's going to be sucked back into its own dimension."

"Finally, somebody who gets it!" he yells.

I stand up. "Well, when you watch the Doctor say his techno-babble enough you pick up on a thing or two." I extend my arm. "Lead the way, oh mighty knight."

"As you wish," he responds. His voice sounds like it's smiling. He grabs my arm and leads me through the darkened hallways.

I can't make out anything, and feel like a rag doll. Being pull one way and then the other. Occasionally getting smacked in the face by a rather rude wall. Tripping over my own feet like an idiot. In other words, I am the picture of grace.

I trip over something large and fall to the ground. A hand grabs my upper arm and hoists me up again.

"Watch out over here, I electrocuted them all," he tells me.

My eyes widen. "You mean, th-that is…"

"A Silence, yes," he tells me. Alarms start to flair, giving a dim red light that only shows our shadows and silhouettes. "We have three more minutes, we need to get away as fast as possible. Come on!"

I'm tugged along again, tripping over a couple more Silence and finally realizing after a minute that we're outside. The stuffiness of the ship is gone, and I realize that my sneakers are getting soaked by the creek water. It's dark outside.

"How-" I start to ask, when I'm ripped away again and pulled through the rocks and ferns and onto the pathway.

"What did I say about not asking anything?" Officer Martin reminds me. "None of you ever listen to me! Do I just have one of those faces that everybody ignores?"

He lets go of me and we continue running on the boardwalk.

"Well…" I say between pants. God, I really need to work out. "To be fair…I haven't exactly seen your face before."

Even in the dark I can tell that he's smirking. "That's what you think."

The boardwalk turns into gravel and I blindly try to remember the twists and turns of the pathway. I scrape my arm against a branch. I can still hear the alarms, but they're growing faster now.

We're almost to the cul-de-sac when I feel myself being drawn back, like I'm being grabbed by my ankle.

"Residual energy from being the ship being pulled back into another dimension!" Officer Martin explains. "Better find something to hold onto!"

I wrap my arms around a nearby tree and I lift into the air. Loose pieces of gravel rocket backwards, as do branches and bushes. I look over to the silhouette of Officer Martin, who's latched onto a boulder and holding on for dear life. I can make out some more features in the light of the moon, but mostly because of the street lamps that cover the street up ahead. He's taller, and he's got a lot more hair. He seems to be wearing a jacket of some sort.

He's speaking to me, but the sound of everything being forcefully sucked into another dimension blocks his voice out.

"_What_?" I ask.

"The residual energy will fade quickly!" he yells over to me. "So be prepared to-"

I stop being lifted into the air and fall to the ground with a thud. I slowly get up, feeling sore and tired.

"Fall on my ass?" I guess bitterly.

The man gets up as fell, dusting himself off. "In a sense, yes." It's silent, but eerie. "Some of them might still be here. We better get somewhere safe, and fast."

I look around. It's so dark outside, and it was bright out when we first came here.

"How long was I knocked out?" I inquire.

"A good hour or two," he answers simply.

I gape. "What? Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit."

He rolls his eyes. "You really must work on that mouth of yours."

I pull out my phone. Three missed calls and two text messages.

I dial the number and put the device to my ear. On the second ring, my mom answers.

"Jenna, I've been trying to call you over the past half an hour," she tells me.

"Yeah, sorry," I apologize. "Just dozed off, didn't mean to." Hey, it's not a complete lie. Just replaced 'dozed off' with 'knocked unconscious' and you've got the truth.

"It's only seven, sweetie," Mom tells me. I pull away my phone and check the clock. She's right. I've been asleep for an hour and a half at the least.

I pull the phone back up to my ear. "Yeah, you know. Staying up late with homework and all that jazz. Just been getting…" I throw in a fake yawn for authenticity. "…really tired lately."

"I'm sorry about that," Mom tells me. "I just called to say that we're over at the Thompsons, and we're probably going to be over there for the next couple of hours. I was wondering if you wanted me to bring you over here."

"Quit chatting and start running!" Officer Martin orders. "The stop in residual energy may have been a bump, we need to get as far away as possible!"

"What was that?" Mom asks.

"Oh!" I exclaim. Damn it. "I'm…um…I'm just watching Doctor Who, yeah. They're replaying the new episode tonight, and I missed it because of my nap. Important episode, The Power of Three. So I'd rather stay here, thank you very much. So, uh, yeah. I'm going to get back to my show. Love you!"

"Love you too, sweetie," she says. The phone clicks off.

I stuff the phone in my pocket and start running when I realize that the Time Agent isn't following me.

"Well?" I ask. "Come on!"

He still stands there. "New episode?" he asks.

I put my hands on my hips. "How does it feel, huh? Having the bulk of what you believe to be real and fictional flipped upside down? Feels bad, doesn't it?"

"I am not going to dignify your smugness with an answer," he tells me. The tugging feeling returns. "Now let's go!"

Being powered by adrenaline, I smile maniacally. "Allons-y!"

I'm the one running ahead of him now, mostly from the adrenaline rush and the fact that I'm a good 50 yards ahead of him. I fight against the tug of energy as I watch garden doo-dads and bicycles topple over and get slowly dragged across the ground.

We get around the corner and bound up the street. I don't look back, climbing across the grass front of my house and pushing in between the rhododendron bushes in the front yard. I fish out the key from my back pocket and messily unlock the door. The cat greets me, but promptly scurries off.

I take this moment to sigh. "Wow," I say. I start walking over to turn off the alarm. "You know, I was planning on spending tonight watching TV and eating leftover pasta. Didn't expect to, you know, be captured by fictional alien monsters and save the Earth from an invasion." I press in the code. "Needless to say, this has been one hell of a night."

"I've had worse," the man's voice says from the hallway.

"Oh really?" I ask, turning around the corner. "Tell me, what could be worse than-" I stop there.

He's standing there, in the front hallway, with his hands behind his back. Tweed jacket, dress shirt, bow tie. Messy, floppy hair. He's got a knowing and slightly smug smile on his face, like he was expecting me to be this shocked. How could I have been so thick? Him still being in the Wild West, my ass. Nothing's ever linear with him, is it? He hinted it to me so many times, but then again I was a little busy being confused out of mind. But if Officer Martin had to be anybody, I never would've expected him to be _this man._

"Hello," he says, waving and grinning. "I'm the Doctor."

**#**

**Another cliffhanger! Yay!**

**Okay, guns are never appropriate for these kinds of situations guys.**

**Next update should be sometime this week. Until then, let's all sob over the fact that the Ponds are leaving next Saturday, shall we?**

**I know, I'm a horrible person.**

**Toodles!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	5. The Start, Part 4

**Here you go, my wonderful followers and newcomers! I hope you enjoy!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

I blink.

This cannot be happening.

This cannot even be extrinsically possible. Nope. No.

He's standing here—_the Doctor_ is standing here, in my hallway, looking calm as ever. No dream, no hallucinations, no holograms. He's just standing here, right in front of me.

"I'm warning you, you might catch a fly with your mouth open like that," he tells me. "Trust me, I have personal experience. It isn't the fondest memory."

"I…you…" I struggle to say. In all honesty I'm trying not to freak out and flap around like a dying seal making strangled cat noises.

"Yes, me," he says. "And me is very hungry. Do you have any food around here? I'm starved."

I close my mouth and open it again. "Uh, um…w-we've got a kitchen. You can look through that."

He nods and walks past me. I continue to look at him, in utter shock. Okay, the perception filters I could handle. Perfectly reasonable, maybe a new scientific innovation. Having agents looking for alien life, also reasonable. Perhaps Roswell actually did happen. But having the Doctor fishing through my fridge and picking up a Tupperware container of parma rosa is honestly too much.

I walk over and sit down on one of the stools that stand by the kitchen island.

He moves over to my pantry, obviously finding nothing interesting there. "Oh, tortilla crisps!" he exclaims. "Haven't tried those yet, in this body." He opens the bag and tries one. "Not half bad."

"You're the Doctor," I point out finally.

He nods and eats another. "Yes."

"And you're eating tortilla chips," I add.

He looks down at the bag, and then back up to me. "Yes."

"The Doctor is eating tortilla chips in my kitchen," I announce.

He nods. "Yes, I am."

I shake my head. "This isn't possible!"

"What have the last couple of hours taught you?" he asks me. "It's all completely and utterly possible. Anything's possible, really. All the variables are there for a reason, they don't just simply exist to not exist."

"But you're a fictional character!" I tell him. "You're portrayed by an actor on the television!" I pause. "Are you Matt Smith?"

"Who's Matt Smith?" he asks. "And even if I am, that doesn't mean I'm not real. Somewhere, in the many dimensions and universes all of space and time olds, maybe you're life's a show as well." He eats another chip.

"But I know that I'm not a TV character," I say.

"And I did, too," he admits. "Until I stumbled over here."

"So you're the Doctor."

"Yes! Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Where's the sonic?" I ask.

He whips out the clawed metal tube and points it the light above the dining table, causing it to pop. We both jerk back in surprise. "You might want to think above replacing that."

I nod. "Okay…where's the TARDIS?"

"Over off of that other trail you've got in this neighborhood," he explains. "By the way, how many do you have over here? Five?"

"Three," I tell him. I sigh. "Alright, I believe you."

"Wow, that quick?" he asks. "It took you longer to believe in perception filters."

"In all that I've seen today, I really have no sense of reality anymore," I tell him. "So…why are you here, exactly? If you don't mind me asking, it's just that travelling in between dimensions isn't always common, even for you."

"Ah, yes," he says. "You see, I came in here through a tear in reality."

I shake my head. "I know about cracks, nothing about tears."

"They're very similar," he admits. "Except tears are less harmless, in a way. I mean, yes, they're still dangerous, but everything has some sort of danger to it. Even a spoon."

I stare at him. His rambling in the show is much better than it actually happening in real life.

"But back on topic," he adds, getting the hint. "You know how you have a rip in an article of clothing?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"Well it's nothing like that. It's more of having a plastic bag full of water and poking it with a needle. Most of the time you leave a puncture mark, but nothing really happens. Contents might slowly drip out, but nothing big. Ghosts of that dimension's reality. That's how artists and authors get their inspiration, by having that energy latch onto them. There are millions of tears in reality, none of which would even hurt an ant, unless that dimension was ruled by giant anteaters. There's a planet on the galaxy Rubion 6 that is made out of an advanced species of anteaters, actually. They're a lovely people."

"If you could please continue?" I request.

He glares at me, but keeps talking. "Anyways, tears only become a threat when grow bigger, letting actual matter from that dimension spill into the other. The one that I went through was only slightly stretched out, enough that I could pass through but nothing else would be able to." He pauses. "Of course, the Silence followed me here and brought their ship and all their crew. The tear got too big."

"So is it all okay now?" I ask him.

"By reversing the message being sent to the other dimension, my dimension, I reversed the effects. I could explain that to you, but it involves a lot of quantum physics that you would most likely not understand."

I smirk. "Try me."

He was right. I think he switched to some alien language in the middle just to mess with me.

Midway through I stop him. "Alright, alright! I get it. It's very complicated and my little human mind wouldn't be able to comprehend it."

"You were able to figure out what would happen to the ship, I'll give you that," he tells me.

I shake my head. "So…why were you here in the first place? Isn't dimension jumping a little dangerous? You might get stuck here."

"Don't worry, I check it all out," he reassures me. "This tear is set to be constant for another day, at the least. No fluctuations, unless something else has locked onto my signal. As for my reason being here…why not? A whole other dimension. I was curious."

He avoids eye contact and rolls up the chip bag, placing it back in the pantry and shutting the door.

"You're lying," I tell him.

He turns to me with a curious face on. "And what would make you say that?"

I snort. "Please. I know Rule One like the back of my hand. You watch a person for a while and you know their ticks."

"The fact that you know so much is still very unsettling," he confesses.

"And the fact that you're changing the subject is making me even more curious as to your real reason for coming here," I snap back. A thought comes to mind and the ends of my lips curl into a smile. "You were searching for her, weren't you?"

He frowns. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Oh, this is _rich_. "I know everything starting with your ninth regeneration," I tell him. "And some bits and pieces from the previous eight. And I could see the appeal. A gateway into an alternate dimension, why not give it a shot? Sure, the chances of actually meeting her were thin, but what the hell?"

He taps his finger on the counter. "So what if I did?" he asks me. "Just a bit of curiosity, catch up with her and the metacrisis. See if they're happy, how they're doing." He shrugs. "Perhaps a bit of closure—why am I telling you this?"

I shrug and smile. "Don't know. I mean, there are only a few things I don't know about you, so the need to hide anything kind of disappears."

"And what don't you know?" he asks me, leaning towards me and looking rather threatened.

I sigh and try to keep up the nonchalant act I've got going. "Your name, of course," I admit. "Not all of your history, the episodes sometimes skips over some things. I don't know what you said to River that made her save your life. I don't know what was behind Door 11—are you that far? Shit, I shouldn't spoil you with your own future." I pause. "Is this what River feels like, all the time? It's kind of annoying."

"Door 11?" he asks.

"From 'The God Complex'," I answer immediately. He blinks. "Uh…damn, I'd give you a summary but I don't know if it's happened yet. What was the last big thing you did?"

"Well, I saved a whole planet from an army of carnivorous toucans," he says.

I shake my head. "No, no." I stand up and start looking at him, thinking.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Figuring out how far you are," I confess. "Let's see… the Silence are still after you, so that's more series 6, possibly. No Ponds, but that could mean anything." I think of something vague enough. "How many times have you met Craig?"

"Craig?" he asks, slightly confused. "Oh yes, Craig! He was a lot of fun, hope him and that girl are doing well."

"Okay," I say, taking it in. "So, before 'Closing Time'. Good, that narrows it down. Judging by the hairstyle, I'd say it's after the moon landing."

His eyes brighten. "That was fun. I've been meaning to catch up with Canton. I heard he just got married back in 2011. Wonder why it took so long…"

I smirk. "We all have our secrets," I remark vaguely. "Okay, so now I _know_ it's during or after series 6…"

"Can you stop talking about my life like that?" he asks. "You know, all…television-y and clinical?"

"Sorry," I tell him, even though I'm really not. "Just how I think in regards to…you. Deal with it." I frown. "How old are you?"

He pouts slightly and straightens his jacket. "That's a rather personal question, don't you think?"

I smile at the familiarity of his words. "Trust me, I need to know this. Do you want to know your own future and mess up the timeline?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then tell me how old you are."

He pauses and huffs. "I'm 943, thank you very much."

"Really?" I ask, in both real and mock surprise. "You don't look a day over 860."

He turns red. "Well, thank you. I have this trick where—hey!"

I laugh. "I'm just joking. If I didn't know any better I'd say you're in your late twenties." I turn away from him and start pacing lazily on the kitchen floor. "So you're 943, which means that this is most definitely after 'Let's Kill Hitler' but before Lake Si—before that other episode. And it's before Craig so…you're right after 'The God Complex'!"

"I still have no idea what you're talking about," he confesses. "And it's a little unsettling. It's not fun when people know more than me."

I smirk. "'The God Complex' is the name of the episode where you guys went to the hotel. You know, you and the Ponds."

His face looks blank.

"The minotaur," I add. Nothing. "Nina." Slight recognition. I sigh. "When you all went to the hotel that showed everybody their greatest fear and made them into brainwashed worshippers for a minotaur-like alien whose prison was the hotel but it wasn't actually a hotel, but rather a simulation and afterwards you dropped off the Ponds with a new house and a new car." I take a deep breath. "Whew."

"Oh," he realizes. "_That_ time with a hotel. I thought you were talking about the time we had to let the TARDIS refuel, and the Hilton's staff turned out to be a bunch of miniature aliens hell-bent on taking over the Solar System."

"Yes, that time." I pause. "So _this_ is what you were doing. Huh."

"What are you talking about?" he asks.

"Well, it just sort of skips from you dropping off Rory and Amy to-" I stop myself. "Well, I can't say anything, can I?"

"So you _don't_ know everything," he realizes. He grins and does a little swaying dance. "Who's so high and mighty now?"

I scoff. "I was never 'high and mighty'. But I do know more than you, at the moment, in the subject of your future. You've got to give me that one."

He frowns. "How do I know that you're not lying?" he asks. "That you've just studied me for years on end?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I can barely pass chemistry, you think I'm some sort of researcher genius?"

The Doctor shrugs. "In all the things I've seen, anything's possible."

"Well, do you want to watch an episode?" I ask. He starts to talk, but I cut him off. "Something from your past, no spoilers. I promise. You can watch while I make up something to eat."

"Wouldn't you want to watch as well?" he inquires. "Not to sound vain, but my life is pretty interesting."

"You go to museums to look at your own work," I remind him. "No need to hide the vanity."

He scowls. "Still, I would expect that you being such a fan would love to watch me."

I go to the refrigerator and search for something to eat. God, we really need to go to the supermarket. "I've rewatched every episode of the revived series at least once, and seen millions of posts analyzing each scene to the _muscle movement_. Watch all you want, this won't be anything new for me." I look up to see him still standing there against the counter. "The remote's over there." I point to the couch.

He frowns at me for a second before walking over the couch and setting himself down. He picks up the remote and analyzes it.

I sigh. It's like teaching my four year old cousin. "You press TV, and then 'power'."

He presses the two buttons and the screen comes to life. He claps. "Alright, good!" He stares at the remote again.

I shit the fridge door. "Then you press the 'On Demand' button."

The screen changes, and there's more silence from him.

"Go down to TV Networks," I instruct. I turn around to see him doing just that. "And then over to BBC America. It's down a ways. The shows are listed alphabetically."

"I knew that," he grumbles.

I frown. "How is it that you can fly a TARDIS, which has a bunch of levers and buttons and doodads, but you can't operate a simple human remote?"

"It's too simple!" he exclaims. "Not complicated enough. I like complicated. This is..straightforward. Boring. Domestic. Unexc-"

"I get it," I interrupt. "Now, don't go looking through any of series 7 or the twelfth and thirteenth of the sixth."

He flips through. "Why don't I start at the beginning, eh? 'The Impossible Astronaut'."

I freeze and run over to him as he's about to press 'watch'. I snatch the remote from him. "Uh, no. No no no. Something else."

"It's the premiere!" he points out. "Early stuff. Nothing I haven't seen before."

I gulp. "Let's just say there are some spoilers, alright? Choose anything else from that early point except for the first two and last two episodes of that series, and then the whole seventh series altogether. I'm pretty sure everything else is fine." I shake my head. "Or, you know what? We can avoid series 6 altogether. How about the fifth series, there's nothing foreshadowing or bad in the fifth series." I scroll down and release the remote from my grip. "There you go."

"You're being very diligent about this," he observes. "Why?"

In retrospect, I should've told him what the Silence said. That I'll change the timeline and destroy the Doctor. That I'm scared out of my mind to tell him anything vaguely attributed to his future and what it means. That him being here is probably more dangerous considering the fact that I practically gave him a remote control to a device that'll show parts about his life he didn't even know existed or will exist. But I don't. Why? I have the Doctor in my living room. No need to scare him away.

I turn to him and smile. "No reason. People knowing their future is just bad in general. Look at King Acrisius. He sent his daughter into the sea, only to get killed off by a throwing disk. Just isn't right."

He looks at me one more time before returning to the television. It's silent for a little bit before he speaks up to me. "Is 'The Eleventh Hour' any good?" he asks. "Series premiere and all."

"Oh, you'll like it," I tell him. I point to the stairs leading to the lower section of my house. "I'm going to go grab a few things, alright? Enjoy the episode, and don't go peaking anywhere else. Could make Belgium look like Easter Island."

"How do you-" he starts.

"I see all and know all!" I proclaim at the top of my lungs. I throw my hands into the air when I notice a white entity just outside the screen door. "Shit, my cat. Forgot about him." I walk over and open the door. As I lean over to pet him, he hisses at me. "Well then!"

"My my, he is charming," the Doctor observes sarcastically. "I'd repeat what he said to you, but I'm not one for using curse words without reason." He turns his attention back to the show. "Oh, is that the TARDIS, bumbling around like that?"

I glare at my cat. "No more treats for you, you furry son of a bitch."

"Hey, that's me!" he shouts, pointing at the screen. "Look at me. Wearing the old clothes."

"Yep," I say, agreeing. "But as I was saying, I'm going to go grab a couple things. You continue to watch. After the episode, I'll walk you back to the TARDIS, alright? Like you said, there might be a couple Silence left. Don't need any more permanent marker to wash off."

"Yeah, sure," he dismisses, waving his hand away. "Look at that! The TARDIS when it had the pool in the library. Don't know where it is now, though. And the tie! I liked that swirly one. Swirls are cool."

I snort. "Should've expected you to get engrossed in your own show."And with that I race down to my room.

So let's review, shall we? I was abruptly torn out of my relaxing time alone to go help a police officer stop a series of mysterious disappearances. Said disappearances were being caused by aliens I thought to be fiction. Said aliens strapped me down and told me that I would one day destroy the Doctor. I figure that isn't a problem, seeing as I've never met the Doctor before in my life. Police officer saves me and we run back home. Said police officer turns out to be the Doctor, with the sonic screwdriver, TARDIS, and everything.

Sure as hell beats sitting on the couch with a bag of popcorn, I can tell you that.

Imagine yourself in my position, which isn't very hard if you've gone along with me for this long. The Doctor literally showed up on my doorstep a couple hours ago. The same Doctor that I am a huge fan of, more or less. He has a TARDIS. A blue, wheezing, time-and-space-travelling, bigger-on-the-inside box. A box that, frankly, I've imagined appearing in my backyard. Sure, it's actually up the street and down a nature a trail a little ways, but it's close enough. This box, and this Doctor, who I've daydreamed travelling with, are right in front of me. They're touchable. Punchable.

You can't just pass up an opportunity like that.

I need a good outfit, a companion outfit. Amy has the flannel, Rory has the vest, Rose had the pink sweatshirt, and Donna had the wedding dress. I need something that'll knock their socks off.

Not that anybody will be seeing me, of course.

I can't just drop in on episodes, it's not right. They're perfect where they are. And no gutter-mouthed teenager with a love for Chuck Taylors is going to get in the way of that. I promise myself to never get into that kind of trouble.

For future reference, guys, I have a hard time keeping promises. Especially to myself.

I throw on a black wife beater and my blue zip up sweatshirt, exchanging my sweatpants for denim shorts. I tie up my battered Converse again and place a nice purple knit cap with a rather entertaining pompom on the top of my head. Grabbing my school messenger bag, I dump out all the books and school-y shit and stuff it with my laptop, camera, iPod, various chargers, pens and pencils, and my sketchbook. It's after all of that I look at myself in the mirror.

Not too shabby. Jenna Quigley, the Girl Who…huh. Don't have that kind of title yet. The Girl No One Expects? No, that's for the Silence, and I'm not borrowing anything from those creepy fuckers.

I check the clock. I've been down here for twenty minutes.

Should I leave a note explaining what I've done? I mean, I could come back just a couple minutes later. But what if I die? What if something happens? I sigh and pull out a piece of paper.

_Dear Mom and Dad_, it reads. _I've run away. It's not your fault, and I'd like you to—_

No, no. Too cheesy, too fake-sounding. I crumple the paper into a ball and toss it into my headboard.

_Dear Mom and Dad, this note is here to inform you that—_

What am I, an army official? Repeat said action above.

I sigh. _Mom and Dad_, it finally says. _You may or may not have noticed that I am currently not in the house. The reason being that…I've met a guy. A really wonderful guy. No, he's not my boyfriend. But he's a really, really good friend. And I'm going away with him. Call me stupid, tell me I'm throwing my life away, but I know that this will be one of the greatest moments of my life. I might not be back for a while, or at all. But just know that I love you, all of you, so very much. And that you need to replace the dining room light. It broke under circumstances you wouldn't be able to understand. I hope to see you guys soon, Jenna._

There, that should do it.

Right?

God, they're going to be pissed at me if I come back. But this is going to be worth it, I know it. After all, he's the Doctor. Life with him is never boring. Then again, it's never nonlethal either, but that's beside the point.

I place the note on my bed, dead center, and leave the place.

I run back up the stairs, seeing the episode ending. Jesus, did it really take me that wrong to write a note? Oh well, it serves poetic justice. Whatever that means.

I watch as the television Doctor steps through the blue-hologram version of his previous face.

"Hello," he says. "I'm the Doctor." The scene switches to a full view of him, in all his old history professor-like glory. "Basically," he says, the camera switching back to his face. "Run."

I laugh. "You sure know how to be dramatic, don't you?"

The physical Doctor, who has been on the edge of his seat, jumps a little at the sound of my voice. "Oi, it was a first impression!" he defends. "First impressions are important. Besides, when I was there I had no cool background music to up the ante. It was a rather quiet exchange, in fact."

"I really can't imagine your life with background music," I confess. "It's just how it's always been for me."

"Take from me, I was there," he says. "There was no background music." He pauses and looks at me. "A bit dressed up, are you? You're walking me back to the TARDIS, not going to the movies."

I smile. "I know," I tell him. "Just decided to, and let you enjoy your own show."

He grins. "It's cool!" he tells me. "Slightly weird and having me fear for my own personal privacy, yes, but cool! I have my own theme song! An _actual_ theme song."

I start doing my bad impression of it, and halfway through he bumbles along with me, doing an even worse job, ironically.

"So, did you enjoy it?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"For a fictional representation of my life, I say they made it almost exactly the same as it actually was," he compliments.

I raise an eyebrow. "Isn't that a little oxymoronic?"

He considers. "Suppose so. Anyways, they did a great job. However, I was actually wearing a blue bow tie that day, they got that wrong."

I sit back. "Huh. Always picture you with a red one," I tell him. "I like red."

He inhales. "Don't mind me asking," he starts. "But there was one advert in between that caught my eye."

"Those Bosley commercials are horrible, I know," I assume.

He shakes his head. "No, no. You see, in between, there was another version of…me. With the Ponds. Holding Amy, with a bunch of Daleks."

I sit up. "Oh, shit," I say under my breath.

"I cannot cross my own time stream, you know that," he tells me seriously. "In fact, you've been enforcing it."

I bury my face in my hands. "Yeah, I know," I tell him. "I completely forgot. Shit."

"Your language is rather vulgar," he says, scrunching his nose.

"And yours is rather complicated and probably made up half the time," I shoot back. I look up to the television screen to see Amy walking into the TARDIS. "You madman in a box."

The Doctor grins, but it quickly fades. "I should be getting back, you know. The tear will fully heal itself in a short while. Don't want to be stuck here, thank you very much."

I frown and stand up. "What's wrong with my parallel dimension?"

"It's _boring_," he admits. "I checked the five nearest galaxies, barely an alien life on any of them. Completely barren and completely devoid of any adventure. It's a wonder you all have any sense of fun."

"Rude," I comment. "And still very not ginger. Come on, I'll take you." I grab a torch from the kitchen drawer.

"It's no problem, I can go alone," he says.

Oh, hell no. I'm not passing up this marvelous incident. "I've got a flashlight and knowledge of the neighborhood," I point out. "You have a screwdriver."

"It's a marvelous screwdriver," he counters. "And I wouldn't feel well leaving you out in the shadows. You're young."

I start walking to the door, flashlight in hand. "And you're old," I say. "Besides, no Vashta Nerada here. I promise."

He sighs and follows me. We silently walk up the street after I lock the door and we venture until I see a darkened dirt pathway.

"This is it, right?" I ask him. I shine the flashlight down the arch of tree branches.

He nods and we continue until I see it. It's under an open patch in the skyline of trees, so the moonlight and artificial lamp lights reflect off of it. In all its blue glory, the TARDIS is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"Wow," I breathe. I touch it, feeling a spark of static electricity. "Yikes."

"Time Vortex is different here," The Doctor explains. He's fiddling around his jacket pockets, searching for the key. "She doesn't get along very well with it."

"She's amazing," I tell him. "The gateway to all time and space just a foot away from me, isn't that surreal?"

"Nothing's surreal for me anymore," he reminds me. "But yes, it is a rather marvelous sight."

I can't stop smiling. "This is one of the best moments of my life, you know that? You've made this the best day of my existence."

"Glad I could help."

I turn to him. "Can I take a look inside?"

"The TARDIS might shock you again," he points out.

"Aw, I'm sure the girl will come to love me." I pat the box again, receiving a lighter shock, but a shock nonetheless. "See? That wasn't as harsh as before."

He silently unlocks the TARDIS, which I take as an, "Okay, fine."

As I thanked some sort of possibly existing higher power for rubber-soled shoes, I stepped inside. You know how each house has a specific smell? The TARDIS has one. It's a mix between the aroma of new books and the scent of the air after it rains. I look up and around. I knew it was bigger on the inside, but not _this_ big.

The Doctor looks at me. "You know you want to say it," he says.

I look at him. "It's incredibly cheesy and everybody says it."

"You know you want to," he sing-songs, sauntering up the stairs and to the console.

I sigh. "It's bigger on the inside, alright?"

He turns to me. "Exactly!"

"It's just so…wow!" I breathe out, letting my arms loose. "It's so alive. And colorful. And…wow."

"Is that all you can say?" he asks me. "Wow?"

I glare at him. "Imagine yourself at the largest candy store in the universe. It's kind of like that."

"The largest candy store is a planet, actually," he informs me.

I smile, skipping my way up to the console and lightly grazing the multiple buttons and levers. I get a light zap, but I'm used to it.

"So…where are we heading?" I ask, stopping next to him and leaning against the edge of the console.

He looks at me. "Pardon?"

"Which planet, spaceman," I evaluate, reveling in using his old nickname. "Or galaxy. Or time period. I have no idea, maybe something from ancient Egypt."

He stares at me before sighing and shaking his head, a sad look on his face.

"Jenna," he says slowly. "You're not coming along."

BOOM. The shit has hit the fan.

"What?" I ask. "But—but you always let people come aboard the TARDIS! You love company!"

"You are a teenager," he points out. "You have a whole life ahead of you, you don't need to waste it with me."

"But you were going to let Amy come along when she was seven!" I argue.

He stays silent, looking away.

"Oh my god," I exhale.

"I only meant to go for a year or two," he tells me. "I expected her to forget me, think I was a dream. And I had just regenerated, words were pouring out of my mouth. I wanted her to sort her life out, realize the consequences of coming with me. I didn't expect to jump ahead twelve years, but yes, I never expected to pick her up when she was seven."

"But I'm not seven," I say. "I know the consequences."

"No, you don't," he says bitterly, moving away from me. "That's the thing with you humans, you always live in the moment, never looking backwards or forwards. Always acting, never thinking things through." He stops his walking. "You have so much to look forward to. Don't like a man with a box ruin that."

I gulp. "Alright," I say, voice shaky. "Fine. But this was the best day of my life, remember that." I start walking towards the doors. "Sometimes I think you outweigh all the good things you've done with the bad things. But this whole day was a giant good thing to me. Just wanted to let you know that."

Still looking a little bitter, he gives me a small smile. "Thank you."

Before I exit the door I turn to him. "Oh, and I'd recommend that you try the blackberries before you leave. Doesn't taste as good anywhere else in the Universe."

He nods. "I'll remember it."

"Goodbye, Doctor."

He waves me off.

I exit the doors and shut them behind me. The minute I do so, I run into the bushes and wait.

Please, let this work. Please.

I hold everything. My breath, my muscles. Wait for some sort of noise. Not the TARDIS noise, God forbid. But another noise.

I grin wildly as I hear the sound of doors opening.

I knew he couldn't resist.

I watch the Doctor look around, probably checking to see that I'm gone. I hope I've hid myself well enough.

Once he sees that I'm apparently gone, he raises his sonic screwdriver and walks a little ways down. I grin, coming out of my hiding spot.

He left the doors open. Of course.

I walk inside to feel a zap course through my locker.

"Oi," I whisper. "That hurt."

I hear footsteps from outside and run up the stairs to the hallway, turning a corner and poking my face out.

The Doctor comes in, holding black lumps in his hand. "Not too bad," he remarks, mouth full. "Rivals Ferni 8, for sure." He downs the rest of the berries and looks at his hands. "Stain horribly."

He walks over to the console and sighs. "Alright. Another adventure, away from parallel places. They aren't the greatest places to be, are they?"

He's talking to himself again. Okay, call me self-absorbed, but he needs a friend. More specifically, me.

The Doctor starts moving his way around the console, pressing buttons and making the dashboard do weird noises.

"Okay, old girl, think you can squeeze us through a tear in reality?" he asks the TARDIS. In response, the whole place shakes. I grip the walls, careful not to reveal myself.

The shaking continues for another five minutes until it abruptly stops. The Doctor pulls up the screen and grins. "Woohoo! Back in the home dimension!"

He continues to pilot the TARDIS while I stand up, staring at the hallway before me. A myriad of doors leading to different rooms lie before me. I'm in a different dimension now, there's no turning back.

Allons-y, then.

**#**

**Gahhh! I know it took a while but I hope the length of this chapter makes up for it.**

**Thanks to all who have reviewed, you make my day brighter. I'm glad Jenna isn't too Sue-ish. I tried to steer away from that.**

**See you soon!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	6. Stow Away, Part 1

**Disclaimer (because I forgot to do one and it'll probably be a while before I do another one): I do not own Doctor Who in any way, shape, or form. All of it goes to the wonderful writers and the BBC. I only own Jenna, who I believe would be very offended for being owned anyways and would most likely bite me.**

**A huge thanks to Keiba Namid for the GINORMOUS review that has made my month, and for all the other reviews, too. I'm glad my character is entertaining enough.**

**This chapter has come along faster than thought due to the fact that "The Angels Take Manhattan" is one tonight and I must not spoil myself and therefore stay away from Tumblr in spite of myself.**

**So, on with the story!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

Stowing away on the TARDIS. Sure, it's never been on my Bucket List, if I ever made one in the first place, but it is a feat to accomplish. After all, you just got past the most influential being in the Universe and have passed the security of a machine made by a race who literally called themselves the lords of time. It's not something you do for fun.

Unless you're me, and you're screwing around in all the rooms.

Okay, okay. I get it. I'm an idiot, really. Just jumping onto a ship and becoming a resident without the owner's knowledge. But _come on._ It's the TARDIS. A dimension inside a dimension, infinitely big and filled with tons of rooms one can explore.

Before the Doctor throws me out, I'm going to enjoy myself a little bit.

I can still hear him flipping various switches around the corner, so I know he's occupied. The hallways are just like they were back in "The Doctor's Wife": grey and hexagonal. The only difference is the various doors shaped into the wall.

Every door is spaced apart a different length; on some they're right next to each other, while others have a whole football field in between them. Figuratively, of course. Though I do believe one of them may have an actual football field inside of it.

I look back to make sure he hasn't stopped his piloting/choreographed dance routine and look forward to the rooms again. I take a step, trying to be as silent as possible. The rubber creaks slightly, as does the metal floor. I wince, waiting for him to pause. He doesn't.

I smile and pick up the pace.

Each door has a label written in plain English, but out of the corner of my eye it switches to different languages. TARDIS Translator, of course. I wonder what the original language is…

A label catches my eye. I've wandered around a couple corridors already when I see it. A single word.

"Ponds".

I smile. Of course. Not "Williamses" or "Rory and Amy". Nope. Just…"Ponds".

I have the temptation to look inside, but resist it. It's their room, can't invade that kind of privacy. Whenever somebody enters my room without my permission I get pissed. No need to feel Amy's Scottish wrath.

I walk past the door and venture onwards, occasionally opening a door to peek inside. I open one to reveal an entire ballroom glittering in precious jewels that I didn't even know existed.

"Wow," I breathe out. I nod. "A bit 'Beauty and the Beast'. But…wow. Wonder what he uses this for?"

"The Doctor uses this room rarely," a voice says behind me. It's young and has a very Scottish accent. "It is mostly just for show."

I jump and turn around. A little girl with fiery red hair, matching sweater, and a nightgown stands before me with no emotion on her face.

"What the f-" I stop myself, realizing. "You're the voice interface! The TARDIS voice interface!"

"Yes," she confirms. "And you should not be here."

"Hey!" I say in offense. "You're just the interface, all full of information-y stuff and crap. Don't tell me what I should and shouldn't be."

"I am the TARDIS interface," she corrects me. "And the TARDIS is not happy with you being here. You should not be here."

"I have rights," I say, attempting to argue but failing. "I can be here. Sure, stowing away isn't a noble effort, but you saw him. He needs somebody to talk to."

"Then why are you avoiding him?" the interface asks.

Okay, two can play at this game. "Why are you even talking to me? Only the Doctor can enable the voice interface." I can't help the smug smile that crosses my face. See if she can answer _that_.

"The TARDIS enabled me," it explains. Or should I call the interface a she? It _can_ take the image of any being, so it could also be a "he". Ouch, now my brain is hurting. "The TARDIS can turn on its own devices, therefore it enabled me."

"So why did she need to do that?" I inquire, closing the ballroom's door and leaning against it.

"To tell you that you should not be here," the interface repeats in that adorable little Scottish accent. It's funny how something can be so cute and so irritating at the same moment.

"Yeah, yeah," I dismiss. "I get that. I snuck aboard, so what? The TARDIS has had people aboard it before. I'm just…a little more determined to keep it that way. And I'm going to enjoy myself before the Doctor finds me and possibly turns into the Oncoming Storm."

"No," the interface denies. "You should not be _here_."

I raise an eyebrow. "What's the difference in that?"

"Everything," the projection answers.

"That's a little vague for my liking," I mutter. But I decide not to press it. I sigh. "So I'm not supposed to be here? What are you going to do about it? You're a bunch of information and pixels."

I swear the interface _smiles._ It's small and quick, and it soon returns to its emotionless expression, but I know it does. "I am just the messenger," it reminds me. "The TARDIS does not want you here."

"And?" I ask, waiting for it to continue.

The projection flickers and disappears.

"Fat load of useful that was," I murmur. I clear my throat, standing up straight and moving on.

I continue to open various doors and wonder how many needs and interests the Doctor has had to have so many rooms. There's the wardrobe, which I've seen before, but is still bigger than I thought it would be. It's a whole shopping mall, isn't it? Maybe even three, with the amount of clothing there is. It also has a greenhouse, which is odd considering that it is inside and there's no sunlight to grow anything. There are some interesting plants in there as well. Definitely not from Earth, judging from the pulsing yellow one that is currently humming Beethoven's Fifth Symphony.

I open another door labeled "Art Gallery". It's a simple white room with a bunch of stairs moving upwards before reaching a mural on the ceiling. I walk inside and go up the first couple of steps to see a collection of browned paper covered in black ink sketches.

I read the title card. "Sketchbook pages from Leonardo da Vinci after being saved from Cybermen," I say aloud. I look up to see a sketch of the Doctor in his tenth incarnation and various Cybermen and smile. "So that's where they went."

I continue moving upwards, seeing various artists' work from the past and the future displayed before my eyes with their own humorous back-story. I keep myself away from the rail-less edge of the stairs, leaning against the wall. I would be enjoying myself a lot more if this whole place didn't outwardly express my damn vertigo.

I smile as I pass the painting of the exploding TARDIS and read the title card.

"Not the best memory," it says. "But a good painting nonetheless."

"You are still here," a familiar Scottish voice says again. I jump less this time.

I turn to the little Amy version of the interface. "Yes, I am," I say. "Thank you for pointing out the obvious."

"You need to leave," it tells me.

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," I inform. "I mean, it's you! The TARDIS! I've dreamed of coming aboard here, I'm not just going to walk out of here."

I feel a slight hum in the room. Great, I've amped the ego.

"You must go as far away from the Doctor as possible," it continues.

I frown. "You know, what do you have against me? I mean, sure, I've stowed away in you, but it's not like I don't respect you or anything. I really, _really_ like you. You're a time machine, for Pete's sake! You've done all these awesome things for the Doctor and for other people, and I honestly commend you for it. So why don't you like me?"

"You are an unexpected variable," it explains. "The TARDIS can see everything in time and space, except you. You are an unexpected occurrence, something she cannot calculate. You are a harm."

"Listen, I get the TARDIS's knowledge and all that, but the most harm I can do is put tin foil in a microwave," I say, starting to walk down the stairs and passing through the hologram.

"Everything has some sort of danger to it," it reminds me, quoting the Doctor. "Even a spoon."

"Well, I'm not a spoon."

"Yes, you are more than that. Therefore, you are more dangerous."

"You are just like the Silence! All, prophetic and all-knowing. I would _never_ hurt the Doctor. I know that."

The hologram disappears.

I look around sighing. "You're making this look a lot worse than it actually is!" I yell.

I'm given a slight shake.

"Somebody's grumpy," I say, and bound down the stairs to exit the room.

I keep walking further into the maze of corridors when my stomach grumbles. I haven't eaten since lunch, which by now seems like it happened centuries ago.

"Kitchen," I mutter, looking through all the doors. "Kitchen, kitchen, kitchen."

I walks past many doors. Old companion's bedrooms, a roller skating rink, and even a gym. But no kitchen.

"Oh, ha-ha," I say smirking. "Very funny. Showing me every room possible but the kitchen. That's almost childish."

I get a low hum in response.

"I'm just hungry," I tell her. "Could you please show me the kitchen? Pretty please with a little blue time-travelling cherry on top?"

I continue walking while I say this and come across a door labeled "Kitchen."

Ha, I knew she has a soft spot for me.

I do a mock curtsy. "Thank you. May I say you're paint is looking particularly nice today?"

I can almost feel the words "just get a move on before I change my mind" floating in the atmosphere.

Grasping my stomach I open the door and take in my surroundings. It's a simple kitchen, nothing grand. Blue plastic tile with a metal refrigerator and a table lit by a single light bulb above it. A pantry lies in the corner.

I open the refrigerator and go wide-eyed.

"I guess the bigger on the inside thing goes further than I thought," I think aloud. I've been doing that a lot today, haven't I? Must be a side-effect of meeting the Doctor.

It's a whole freaking walk-in refrigerator. Kind of like a walk-in closet, but for food-lovers like myself. I can make anything from a soufflé (though in respect for painful memories I'd rather not) to a roast turkey.

But, frankly, I'd rather make a sandwich. So I do.

And while eating that sandwich I wander the hallways yet again, wandering aimlessly. So aimlessly, in fact, that I end up right back in the console room.

The Doctor is underneath the console, obviously tinkering with some things. I can hear metal clanging against metal and the twisting of screws. His sleeves are rolled up, and the tweed hangs over the railing.

"Shit," I whisper.

The tinkering stops. Before he can look up, I drop the sandwich and run.

I can hear him behind me, walking around the console room and most likely picking up the sandwich in puzzlement. But I don't concentrate on that. Instead, I focus on finding someplace to hide. _Now._

I reach for the handle of the first door I see, not looking back and closing it behind me. I slide the strap of the messenger bag off of my shoulder and slump against the wall, looking forward.

So that's where the pool went. Well, if it's already been in the library, no doubt it would go someplace more ridiculous like, oh I don't know, the _dojo._

I don't even want to know why the Doctor has a dojo.

Actually, I do. Maybe I'll ask him when I'm not trying to avoid him completely.

I settle down in there, trying to keep my eyes open. God, all that running makes you really tired. I need to get into shape, if this is making me feel so sore and exhausted.

I sleep there, and he doesn't find me. I don't know how long I am asleep for, but when I wake up the soreness is gone and I'm hungry again.

I do this multiple times, in fact. This whole process. Explore, eat, almost encounter the Doctor, sleep, and repeat. I think I've gone into half of the rooms already, when it happens.

The interface visits me many times, telling me again and again that I shouldn't be here. Of course, it never specifies "here". But it obviously doesn't mean the TARDIS. It's very confusing and slightly creepy, to tell you the truth.

Every time I encounter him it seems I leave something behind. When I'm hanging out in the library I leave a book open, when I'm charging my phone I forget the charger (I still have Internet connection, somehow, that belongs to my dimension. Perhaps it's connected to the whole "unpredictable" part of me that apparently exists). At first I think it's just bad luck, but it's too frequent and coincidental to be bad luck.

It's when I've returned to the library that I encounter the interface.

"You shouldn't be here," it says again.

I set my book down. "Does that ever get old for you? Just stating that over and over again?"

"You have been here for one week," it informs me. "But you are still here. You should not be here."

"Yeah, well, with the luck I've been having I'm sure the Doctor will be coming any day to throw me out," I mutter.

"Of course," the interface says. "That is how it should be."

I eye it. "What do you mean by that?"

"You should not be here."

I stand up from the corner I've been sitting in. "You've been doing it, haven't you? You, the TARDIS? You've been moving me around to make sure I'd encounter the Doctor."

"Yes."

"Then why do you let my get away?"

"You are very dangerous," the interface says, repeating itself again. "However, you have much potential. That should not be wasted."

"So I'm being spared and threatened because of stuff I haven't done yet? Oh, well that makes _perfect_ sense. Thank you very much, I _completely_ understand now." I start walking away before the virtual version of Amelia Pond appears in front of me.

"You are not supposed to be here," it repeats.

"Then _why_ am I still here, huh?" I yell. "After a whole week, why hasn't the Doctor found me yet and kicked me out?"

"Because you would still be here," it tells me.

"What is this 'here'?" I ask, trying not to knock over something in this growing frustration.

"Simple," the hologram says. "Here is here. It always has been, with exceptions."

"Is vagueness a natural attribute to being a TARDIS?" I ask rhetorically. "Or is it just something you like to do for fun?"

The hologram disappears.

Of course.

I exit the library and walk around the hallways until I come across the console room again. It's empty.

"Interface?" I ask, calling it out for the first time. "Where is the Doctor?"

For once, it actually does what I ask it to.

It appears next to me, right at the top of the stairs leading to the hallway.

"The TARDIS is currently in the city of New Los Angeles on the 3rd New Earth, in the Republic of California," it states, not surprised at all. "The Doctor is stopping an assassination plot that could change the future of the human race."

I nod. "What else?" I ask in a small laugh. I look down to the interface. "You can go, if you want to."

It flickers away again.

Even though I've been in the TARDIS for a whole seven days, I haven't returned to the actual console. The Doctor is busy, so why not? Carefully, I walk down the stairs, hoping that the interface wasn't lying.

I walk up to the random buttons.

"I may be slightly pissed at you," I say. "But you are truly amazing. I mean, really. Wow."

I sit down and pull out my sketchbook, making sure the pencil is sharp and deciding to make a rough sketch of the whole console room. It's not good. I mean, I'm not da Vinci or Van Gogh, but it's not a five year old crayon drawing with stick figures.

I don't know how long I'm there, but I'm almost finished when I hear voices outside of the TARDIS doors.

"—thank you, Prime Minister!" I hear a familiar British-accented voice say.

Shit, shit, shit.

I scramble off of the chair and search for someplace to hide. Underneath the glass! Yes, of course. And I can come out when he goes elsewhere. I slide underneath the railing and run into a tangle of wires, looking up and praying he doesn't see me.

Wait, where's my sketchbook?

I hear the door open. "I'll make sure to return soon!" I hear the Doctor call out. "Thanks for the key to the city!"

The door shuts. "Okay, where to next?" he asks, walking up the stairs. He's almost right above me now. I lean back into the wires silently. "Ooh, I haven't seen King Louis in a while. Maybe I should drop by and visit if he doesn't try to behead me first. I'll tell you, Marie Antoinette fell on top of me!"

He's talking to himself. Or to the TARDIS. Either way, that's not good if it means the Doctor is finally losing it.

He starts running around the console, twisting knobs and all that piloting shit, until he abruptly stops.

"Hello," he drawls, walking slowly over to the chair. "What's this?" I can hear the flipping of pages.

Oh. That's where I left it.

"The console…" he mutters, obviously looking at my drawing. He drops the book. "Why are all these objects showing up? A sketchbook, a half-eaten sandwich, a charger, and a hat!"

I feel the top of my head. Oops.

"Where is all of this coming from?" he asks to nobody. He walks back over to the console, pulling up the screen. "Could just be a temporal anomaly, but they're not all just simply placed here, they're left in haste." He presses a few buttons. "Scan for any life forms aboard the TARDIS."

The TARDIS has been nice to me before. After all, she told me (through a messenger, yes, but told me) that I have potential to be very helpful. She showed me the kitchen and let me get away. She wouldn't have me be caught now.

"Life forms detected," the monotone screen announces.

Thanks for the help, pal.

"How many?" the Doctor asks.

"One."

"And where is it?"

"Showing heat signals in the TARDIS," the screen says.

"The console room…" the Doctor whispers. "Right under my nose. How?"

Oh, haha. The irony.

I hold my breath. Please, no. Not now, not yet. I can deal with him being serious and sad, but not angry. And I'm expecting a hell of a lot of anger to come out of him when I pop up.

Just don't find me, please…

"Alright," the Doctor says louder, turning around just above me. "Come out; come out, wherever you are. Ollie-Ollie oxen free!"

I've got to stay silent. Maybe he'll go search the hallways and I'll be able to hide just a bit longer. I wonder if there's an aquarium. I want to see the aquarium. I don't want to see an angry Doctor.

"You're here," he seethes. "I know you are. So what are you here for? To kill me? A bit early, and in the wrong spot, I must say. So come out. Face me." He continues walking around the console, passing over me multiple times.

I've got to stay still. I've got to stay still…

One of the many wires I'm hiding in sends a large shock through my arm. I squeak and wince as silently as I can, hoping he hasn't heard me.

The walking stops.

"Motherfucker," I say, not really caring anymore. He's found me out.

The footsteps walk above me and down the stairs to the underbelly of the console. I've got my eyes closed, waiting for it.

The footsteps stop right in front of me.

"Jenna?" I hear him say.

I open my eyes. He looks confused, almost dumbfounded. His eyebrows are knitted together, and his hands spread out, fingers apart. The blue light illuminates his face, and his eyes are filled with surprise and slight realization. It's funny, how it seems the roles have switched.

I grin lopsidedly. "Hello, again."

**#**

**I have this habit of doing cliffhangers. It's becoming quite an addiction.**

**Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go cry over the Ponds. I won't spoil you, but Jesus Christ, Moffat. You really destroyed me this time.**

**Feel free to review, favorite, follow, etc. Or not. I'm not a Nestene Consciousness and you are not Plastics, so you know…**

**See you soon!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	7. Stow Away, Part 2

**Still not over the Ponds. No surprise there.**

**At least the Eleven/River shipper in me is content. However, that seems to be the only silver lining.**

**So I will continue to write so that I can ease the pain away, maybe even watch a couple early episodes and pretend TATM never happened.**

**I'm warning you, this chapter is going to be a angsty…for reasons. I believe this is an unofficial worldwide angst week, so what the hell?**

**Disclaimer: Everything goes to the BBC and their writers, who may or may not have a slight obsession with people jumping off of buildings.**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

This is not the most comfortable position to be in.

Well, _positions_ if we're talking figuratively and literally.

Figuratively would be the fact that the Doctor has found me stowed away on his ship after he told I could not travel with him.

Literally is the fact that he has found me tangled in a clusterfuck of wires.

Is clusterfuck a word? It's a nice word. Rolls off the tongue in a good way. I like it.

Okay, getting off track. Again. God damn it.

I continue to look at him, waiting for him to explode on me. But he doesn't. He just stands there, shocked. I can't blame him. He's clever and intuitive, and he knows it. So having a teenager sneak right past him is probably a rare occurrence, if it has occurred at all.

He's still silent, and I don't like it. The Doctor should never be silent, he should be talking and babbling.

"Uh…could you help me out of this?" I ask, breaking the tension. I shift in the wires. "I don't want to get zapped again."

"The TARDIS doesn't zap anyone," he states blatantly, like a child saying that something is stupid. Which makes sense, since he is kind of a child sometimes.

"She zapped me," I argue. "Then again, she doesn't like me too much."

"And how would you know that?" the Doctor asks.

"She told me," I say quickly, ignoring the confusion growing on his face. "But, you know, it's kind of a mutual love-hate thing going on."

"But how—?"

"I'll explain," I say. "I'll explain everything. But could you please not stand there and actually help me out of these wires? I don't want to pull a plug that might be keeping the cosmos in place, thank you very much."

Carefully I start unwinding the wires around my legs while he gets the ones off of my arms. I am then dragged up the stairs and told to sit down on the chair where my hat and sketchbook lie. I place the hat back on my head and set the book and pencil on the floor, the page still open to the console.

The Doctor paces around the console a couple times and looks at me while I wait for his judgment. I try to hide the fear and brace myself for the yelling and the storminess to erupt from him. But no, he just keeps pacing.

"I can leave, if you want me to," I finally say, looking down. "You can send me back, it's alright. I shouldn't have come on here without you knowing."

He stops pacing. "How?" he asks.

"How what?" I fire back, sounding slightly bitter but still looking down.

"How did you get on here? Temporal shift? Are you covered in Huon particles?"

"Well, I would say that since they sound more reasonable and respectable," I say honestly. "But no, I didn't get transported here and I'm not pulsing with little Huon particles, as far as I know."

"Then how did you get on board?" he asks.

I look up at him and shrug. "Easy. Snuck in when you weren't looking."

"And how exactly did you do that?"

"How is recommending you to try out the blackberries a common thing in a goodbye?" I counter.

He pauses at this with a finger in the air. "Good point." He walks up to me and studies me from head to toe. "How long have you been here?"

"A week? More or less."

"And how was I not able to find you?"

"I hid."

"Where?"

"Everywhere I could. The dojo, library, the room with bouncy trampoline walls, etc. I really like that room, actually, I'm surprised it doesn't get too much attention."

He smiles. "Yeah, I haven't in there for a while myself. Last time was when—oi, don't go changing the subject on me."

I sneer. "Was worth a shot," I grumble.

"The point is," he says, walking away from me, "that you shouldn't be here."

"Trust me, I got that," I inform.

"I told you that you couldn't come with me."

"Yep, and I told myself that I'd never have an opportunity like this," I tell him. "I mean, let's face it. The TARDIS is pretty cool, and Oregon was…not. Just a bunch of trees and protests."

"Do you realize how dangerous this is?" he asks me. "Being here? You've watched me, you know how close to death people who travel with me!"

"I know. I know, trust me, I've seen it." I pause. "But I never took it into account until now."

He smiles slightly. "And now you want off."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "No, I don't." I stand up. "If there is that chance that if I travel with you, and with that the chance that I die, I want it to be important. Something that makes an impact on people and is kind of kickass, if that can be possible. Not by a heart attack or getting hit by a car or suicide or an accident. I'm not saying that those are insignificant, but all my life it's been average and expected. This is not."

He shakes his head. "You are a _teenager._ An adolescent. Practically a child."

It doesn't get any farther than that for him, as if that's a reasonable explanation. "And? You love hanging around young people!"

"Young people shouldn't be thinking about how they are going to die," the Doctor says bitterly. "Or be in any risk of it, either. You made a grave mistake coming here."

"But-"

"_No buts._ Your fate was sealed the minute you decided to stow away, maybe even the minute you left me. And I did the exact opposite of what I wanted to do to you."

He circles around the console and I follow behind him. "And what would that be?"

He stops abruptly and turns to me, so quick that I almost run into him.

"Ruin you."

What the hell is he talking about? "What the hell are you talking about? You haven't ruined me, you never did! I'm still the same person I was before I opened the door, no changes except…this."

"Yes," he sighs. "_This._ _This_ has ruined you."

I shrug. "I don't feel it. I feel fine, pristine. Not a single scratch mark to ruin me."

"You never feel it," he mutters. "They never feel it, none of them. I'm the only one who sees it, who knows it. And even by then it's too late."

"But you don't ruin people!" I defend. "You make them better! Every one of them! Rose went from being a shop girl to the Bad Wolf. Jack is alive because of you. Martha is independent. Donna is married. Amy trusts people. Rory broke out of his shell. And River went from being a psychopath to being one of the most caring and selfless person I've seen. You make their lives special."

He laughs, but it's not joyful. It's slightly condescending. He's slowly becoming what I feared: not the Doctor, but the Time Lord Victorious. "You've forgotten the other half, it seems. Rose is stuck in a parallel universe with a clone of me, and I don't know whether she's happy or not. But she fought, almost died, just to return to me. Then Martha…have you forgotten what happened in the year that never was? Donna lost a year or so of her life because she decided to save me. Amy waited _most of her life_ for me, and she never got to raise her daughter. Rory had died too many times to count. And River…you know what happens to her, and what has happened to her. Because of me, because of stupid me."

"You really think about the bad side only?" I ask him. "Do you just keep blaming yourself like this?"

"The point is," he starts up again, "you're young. And here you are thinking about death and sneaking aboard a strange man's spaceship, not even thinking of the consequences."

"It's not new news to me, if that's what you're implying," I say, sauntering around the console. "Any of it. While everybody else is thinking about makeup and sports and who's doing who, I'm not. Not all of the time, anyway. I'm thinking about other things."

"And what would those be?"

I smirk. "You've got your secrets, I've got mine."

"But look at you. Back where you were you could be innocent and carefree, watching me on the television and thinking those teenager things. You can't have that here."

"Fine," I say, giving up. "Send me back. I've had my fun, I won't tell anybody. I'd get put in a padded room if I did, anyways. Or sued. But if you don't want me here, you can just send me back."

He smiles sadly. "And that, Jenna Quigley, is where I have ruined you."

All goes silent. "What do you mean?" I ask in a whisper. I can gather what he's talking about, but maybe I'm wrong. Hopefully.

"It's been a week that you've been here," he explains. "The tear in reality closed a couple hours after I left. You can't go back."

I feel my breath get shorter. "You're lying."

"Even if it opened again it would be a hell of a ride to get there, possibly fatal," he continues. "And that's if it opens at all. It takes years for a tear to stretch itself to that size again on its own. And forcing it would rip apart the universe."

"Then can't we just travel to a point in time when it is open?" I ask. I gulp, a lump in my throat forming. It can't be true, it can't be.

"Tears in reality exist in all points in time," he says. "Even if you could travel, you wouldn't know when it'd be or how long it'd last. They're unpredictable things." He sits himself on the chair. "And even then, you don't know where it would lead to. Could get stuck in the wrong place, easily. And the wrong time."

You know how earlier I said the reason it would be tricky for me to return to him after I left because he was late? I sort of stretched the truth.

He wouldn't be able to return. I can't even return.

I lied, mostly to myself. Sometimes it's better to think that is my dilemma, a normal companion dilemma. Not this.

"So…no more of anyone I've ever known?" I ask in clarification.

"Your family, your friends," he states, not looking at me. "It's very likely that they can be no more."

"So I have no one," I realize to myself. "All the people I've ever cared about, all the people who've cared about me..."

"Gone," he finishes. "I told you, I've ruined you."

"All I have left is you," I continue, not even really hearing him. "And you don't even want me here. The TARDIS doesn't want me here. I'm alone."

He looks up at me in concern. "Now h-"

"I'm sorry, Doctor," I interrupt, my mouth feeling thick and heavy. "But I…I just need to…"

And with that I bolt up the stairs and race down the halls.

I can't let him see it. I'm not a crybaby, not since fifth grade when I finally bucked up and stopped acting like such a pussy. But I can feel the tears edging on my eyes.

I keep running aimlessly around in the hallways. I don't even know where I'm heading, really. All I know is that the doors between corridors are opening for me and I haven't run into him yet. I guess the TARDIS understands that now is not the time to remind me of what's making me this way: I should not be here.

My friends are never going to see me again. Sure, I only had a few, but they were the best friends a girl could have. Funny, weird, dorky…they were all perfect in their own special way. And I'd never be able to experience that again.

Natasha, or Natty as she hated to be called but was nicknamed as such, wouldn't be able to call me because she needed emotional support after her boyfriend has cheated on her again. I kept telling her she should break up with him, but she can't stay away.

Adie was my best friend. We'd freak out over childhood shows and have movie nights. She got me interested in Doctor Who, and I kept blaming her for all the emotional turmoil that went with it. We'd jump each other in the school hallways and make faces to each other across the classroom.

Will was taller than me, not by much. He wore a ridiculous fedora to school all the time and we'd hang out after school until one of us had to go home. We'd talk about the guys we liked and all the books we read. We teased each other for being so dark and depressing and laughed over it.

Mikey was much, much taller than me. Great hugger. I had a slight crush on him when I first met him. Still do, even now as I'm talking. I'd keep calling him Mickey by accident, and after I explained it he just sort of accepted it. I remember this one time we were at the school football game and had no idea what was going on, so we'd just shout "Sports!" whenever the crowd cheered.

I wouldn't be able to see them again.

And my family…

I get tired of running and settle into a small corner between the walls of the hallways and the jutted rifts that separated them every ten feet. Funny, I kind of looked like Rory, but not all old and aged and crazy. Traumatized and upset, yes. But not the others.

Look, even when I'm telling you a sad and rather horrible point in my life I'm still rambling. I've got to stop doing that.

I try to hold it back, thinking about my family. But telling yourself not to think about it pretty much makes you think about them more. Images flash in my head. Our yearly beach trip, the time we were playing football (American football, mind you) and dad tackled my cousin to the ground and accidentally twisted his ankle. When my mom almost set the garden on fire (don't ask). Every time my brother or sister would barge into my room and annoy me, though it was just to stave off their boredom.

My sister had her jamboree when I left, probably won it. She's really athletic, more than me. A bit superficial, but what can you do with a middle school kid? We would shop together and she would vent her problems while I gave my best advice, which wasn't really good advice at all.

My brother was into all the same shows I loved. We would sit in front of the television and get excited over the same things. He loved Star Wars a lot, so we would have light saber battles in the living room.

My dad was always funny. He'd act like a big brother sometimes, and during road trips where we had to split up I'd go in his car and we'd have endless conversations that made the hours tick by faster.

My mom was something else. She let me pierce my ears and wear makeup, but knew her restrictions. She always made snacks when my friends were over and set it out on the table. We talked about how when I was older we'd have girl's nights out with all of our friends and go walk around downtown. She said that one day we would all visit Ireland together, because my uncle went there and when she saw the pictures she fell in love with her grandma's homeland.

Last time I heard of them, they were having fun at a family friend's house, having drinks and laughing. Then they'd come home to an empty house.

At least I left a note.

_A note is never good enough for the selfish thing you did_, my mind whispered to me.

But it gave me this wonderful adventure.

_You are truly alone._

There's nothing wrong with alone. I love being alone.

_But you'll never love being lonely._

During this whole breakdown I soak my sweatshirt sleeves enough that the skin underneath is getting damp. I don't know how long I've been here: minutes, hours, a day or two? All I know is that my mind keeps looping around these things.

_You've lost your friends._

_You've lost your family._

_You are truly alone._

_Alone for the rest of your days._

It's only when I hear footsteps I break out of it slightly. My mind still loops again and again like a scratched record, but I acknowledge a presence that I don't want. I silently huddle closer into the shadows of the corner, peeking an eye out and seeing a vaguely shaped human-like blob moving towards me.

"There you are," I hear them say in a whisper. "I've been searching for you."

I don't say anything. Looking at him will just remind me of what he's told me, and the pain will start all over again. I can't risk that.

"Hey," he says. His voice is closer to me now. I hear the shuffle of them moving and I know that he's crouching next to me now, like he always does when he's trying to comfort somebody. "It'll be alright."

"No, it won't," I respond. It's thick and guttural, and all I can get out between the gasping that just won't give up. I still keep my eyes buried.

"Yes it will," he tells me. I can see him smiling. "Trust me, I'm-"

"The Doctor," I finish, not in the mood to joke around. "Yeah, I know."

He sighs. "I've done it this time, haven't I?"

"No," I reassure him. "No, it's all my fault. I was selfish and not thinking and reckless and you should just cast me out somewhere because I deserve it."

He pauses for a minute. "You almost beat yourself up more than me, don't you?" he muses. "And that says something."

I finally look up at him. "Why are you here?" I ask him. "Moments ago…or hours or whatever…you were telling me that I was wrong to come here and that I didn't consider the consequences. Congratu-fricking-lations. You were right."

"I was concerned," he tells me. "And if you haven't noticed, none of them ever consider the consequences. You're no different than the rest of them."

"Yeah, but they could go back," I argue. "I can't."

He sits himself down across from me, leaning against the parallel wall to mine. "That's true. But the Universe is big and expansive. You never know. That is one thing I'll tell you, to never give up on something."

"But you said that the chance of that happening is small."

"The Doctor lies, even when he doesn't realize it. You never know. Years from now, the right tear will open the right amount and will land you at the right place at the right time. It's completely possible. Improbable, but impossible."

"Okay," I say, sitting myself up straight and wiping my nose. "So even if that does happen. What will I do all those years? I'm in a strange place and don't know anyone but you, and you don't want me here."

He raises an eyebrow. "Now what on earth gave you that idea?"

"You practically shouted it to the heavens when you ranted on the dangers of being a companion," I inform him. "I'm not the most observant person in the world but I know when to take a hint." I gulp. "I'm truly alone. Never thought that would happen."

"Neither did I," he reminds me. "Now look at us."

I laugh a little. "Yeah. Pretty pathetic, huh? Me feeling all these horribly human things and you attempting to comfort me."

"Of course your emotions are human, you're human," the Doctor says. "Though I do agree, they're rather terrible to experience when they rear their ugly heads." He pauses. "And what do you mean by attempting?"

I smile. "Well, I'm not feeling as bad as I was before, but I do recall you not being the best at handling these kinds of things."

"Oh really?" He seems intrigued now.

"'Rory! She's having an emotion!'" I quote.

"Oi, I'll inform you that I have gotten _much_ better at all the humany-wumany feelings since then," he defends, but the awkward tension has dissipated.

"Oh sure," I say, rolling my eyes. I smile. "But the point is, I don't really hav anywhere to go, do I?"

He shrugs. "You could come with me."

Wait, what?

This guy, who just ranted to me about why I should _not_ travel with him, has practically thrown that all to the wind?

_What?_

"What?" I ask. "Excuse me, but what about all that other stuff you were saying earlier about ruining me."

"The damage is done," he tells me solemnly. He looks up at me with a sad smile. "And I know what it feels like to be in your shoes."

I laugh. "I'd almost forgotten," I confess. "But yeah, it's scary, the similar stories. Hope for adventure, loose everything, and suddenly you're all alone."

"Not always, though."

"No, not always."

"So do you want to?"

"Want to what?" I wipe my nose again, and the hiccups are subsiding.

"Travel with me."

I don't hesitate and a smile cracks on my face. "Well, yeah! I'd love to. Why do you think I snuck on here in the first place?" I pause. "I wouldn't be trouble, would I? This isn't some sort of pity act?"

He stands up and makes x marks over his chest. "Cross my hearts and hope to regenerate."

I laugh. "That's really corny, you know that?"

"I like corny," he says, sounding offended but in a nice way. "Corny is cool."

"You think everything's cool," I say childishly.

"Not true. I don't really like clown shoes. Too bulky." He stands up and extends his hand. "Now, how would you like to see an exploding supernova that invented six new colors?"

I smile and that his hand, getting dragged through the TARDIS and into the console room. I watch as he flicks switches and turns knobs. The room shakes for a minute (resulting in me falling ever-so-graciously on my ass) and settles down.

I'll tell you, the supernova was wonderful. Move over orange, my new favorite color is fraeli.

He keeps himself back in the console room while I dangle my legs for the edge of the TARDIS, gripping tight. Don't want to fall into the vacuum of space. Watching the event I smile and wipe the last tear from my eye.

A girl could get used to this.

**#**

**Angels Take Manhattan is still affecting me. Wahhhh, the emotions.**

**Sorry for the angsty-ness of the chapter. It had to be done.**

**And this is only the beginning of Jenna and the Doctor! Okay, that sounds cheesy. Really cheesy. Like, gouda in a pot of melted cheddar sprinkled with parmesan cheesy.**

**See you sometime this week, or the next! I'm not exactly consistent, and schedules are hell.**

**Until then!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	8. The Damned of the Hesperidia, Part 1

**Hello wonderful people! New chapter here and ready to go. I apologize for the last chapter. It's not my best, and there's a crapload of spelling and grammar mistakes. I think it would've made my English teacher weep.**

**Anywho, thank you for the reviews and on with the story!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

I watch the supernova in awe. I've been sitting here for a good hour, maybe more. But when you see six new colors that you've never seen before, it's pretty awesome. You see them, and you wonder how life could exist without them. Of course they've always been there, those colors. You just haven't seen them yet. It's like a really obvious answer to a riddle.

I kick my legs back and forth, looking down to see the stars only so far away from me suspended in midair. Funny, I'd seen them up above my head all the time. Now they're beneath my feet.

"I personally love the flecks of drigt across the lime green flare," a voice says behind me.

I jump, gripping the edge of the TARDIS harder. I turn and look up to him, glaring. "Do you want me to fall into the vacuum of space?"

"Not particularly, no," he comments. "Though I tried it once and it beats sky diving."

I shiver. "Ugh. I could never do that."

He raises an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"Fear of heights," I say with a small laugh. "I couldn't even go down the fireman's pole on my elementary school playground."

"Then how are you managing being suspended in the middle of a lifeless area with nobody to catch you?" he asks.

"Well, first I just told myself to buck up because I had the front seats to see a supernova," I admit. I inhale. "But, now that you said that I want to get as far away from the edge as possible. Help me up."

He grabs my arm while I scramble away from the threshold of the spaceship. Happy place, happy place. A very happy place. A very happy place where I'm not an arm's length away from the empty expanse of space.

I brush myself off and sigh. "Thanks," I tell him, strolling back to the console and picking up my sketchbook and closing it shut. I sit down on the chair "By the way, you know those things I accidentally left behind when I was hiding from you? Could I have those back? Except the sandwich. Don't give me the sandwich."

"Of course," the Doctor says, walking up the stairs. He flicks some switches and the room hums with energy, but there's still silence as I look through some of my old drawings in boredom and nostalgia. He turns to me and frowns. "Jenna."

I look up. "Yeah?"

"How are you? How are you feeling?"

I could tell him that even though this is the coolest thing to happen to me, the guilt is eating away at me. Or that I feel like bursting into tears again because I sort of forced myself to stop so that I could enjoy my first companion trip. Or maybe that I haven't felt this contradicting mix of hollow and excited in a long time. I could, but I choose the easy way out instead.

I smile and look up to him. "I'm fine."

"You just lost everybody you ever loved," he evaluates. "You shouldn't be fine."

"Believe me," I tell him. "I'm just…fine."

"You sure?" he asks in conformation.

I nod. "Yes."

"Absolutely sure?"

I roll my eyes. "Absolutely."

"Positively certain, no doubt?"

I slam the sketchbook to the floor and stand up. God, he's like an annoying little brother.

"Doctor, I am one hundred percent sure that I am fine. Perfectly fine. Finer than fine. Not okay, sure. But not a wreck. I can manage, Doctor. Trust me."

"Are you—?"

"I. Am. Fine." I'm breathing through my teeth now, hands fisted. I'm sneering at him, and he looks like a deer in headlights. I shake off my annoyance and smile, skipping around to the other side of the console and peering at him through the blue center tube. "So where to, captain?"

"In all the secrets of the universe I have found out, I will never understand the female half of the human species," he says in a sigh.

I grin. "That's how it's supposed to be." I place my hands on the front of the console to balance myself and receive a slight shock to my thumb. I jerk the digit to my mouth and try to cool it off.

"Funny," he comments. "The old girl's never been that way to anybody before."

"Yeah," I say dismissively, looking my thumb and placing my hands back on the console, relieved to have no electricity decide to surge through me. "She and I don't get along too well. I think I told you this already. Keep up, old man."

"I may be old," the Doctor admits, grinning and trying to show off his young face, "but I'm not daft. The TARDIS has never acted that way towards anybody before. She's loved all my companions. Sure, she'd get a little testy and switch up the hallways, but never shock them."

"To be fair, those companions came here with your consent," I remind him.

"But the TARDIS loves humans! She can't resist them."

I raise an eyebrow. "Okay, now you're just making me sound like a puppy."

"But she could never set harm onto anybody!"

I shrug. "I guess I'm special, then," I say. "Call the Wall Street Journal, the only companion the TARDIS doesn't like."

"Cheer up!" he demands with a smile. He claps and wiggles his fingers over the controls. "All of the time and space is out those front doors. Where do you want to go first?"

I take a moment and come up with my answer. "A planet."

"A planet?" he asks in confirmation.

I nod.

"Care to be more specific?"

"A planet that's not from the Solar System," I add.

"No specifics?"

I shake my head. "None."

"How about the sixth new Earth? Or a whole race of aliens with noses for ears?"

I shrug. "Whatever you want. I'm just excited to be here." I try to hide my smile as he begins to look agitated.

"Oh come on! Suggest someplace. Any place."

"Why? So you can try to go there and end up someplace completely different?" I ask. I walk around the console and pull myself up onto the railing just to the right of him.

He looks flustered as he turns to look at me. "Well…possibly. Maybe. I do get it right sometimes, you know."

"Emphasis on _sometimes_," I say in an exasperated tone. "How many times have you tried to go to Barcelona, anyways?"

His face lights up. "I was actually able to get there a month ago, I believe. Or maybe a year. You know, timey-whimey TARDIS and all that."

I roll my eyes. "All I'm saying is that it won't matter. I'll request someplace and we'll either end up someplace else or end up there, but at the same time some alien is trying to take over the Universe or whatever."

He turns back to the controls. "You are just like River."

"Aw, thank you!" I say in appreciation. I get an idea and gasp. "Oh, could we meet her sometime? I love River Song. She's such a badass."

"Oh?" he asks, turning. "And I'm not?"

"You all are," I say. "River just takes the cake. She's human _plus_, Doctor. She understands time as well as you do. And she has a gun."

"Well, maybe we can meet her sometime and you can flirt and ogle over her all you want," he jokes.

"Only when you're finished," I counter with a smirk.

He pauses for a minute before going back to the controls, obviously a little embarrassed. "So. Planets. Always fun. Are you sure you don't have any suggestions?"

I sigh. "Fine. Let's go to a place where you can walk on water and grow fairy wings and everybody's skin color is purple with flecks of grey."

"The Euryphus Belt it is, then!" he comes alive and maneuvers the machine with the giddiness of a schoolboy outside a comic book store.

I'm stunned. "Are you serious?" I ask. "I was just jo—WOAH!"

I'm thrown off of the railing of the TARDIS and onto the floor. Good thing my head broke my fall.

The TARDIS stops shaking and when I open my eyes I see the Doctor leaning curiously over the rails.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"What do you think?" I seethe, gritting my teeth and closing my eyes shut. "You should put up warnings signs, you know."

"Leaning on a rail is already a health hazard," he reminds me.

"Oh, shut up," I snap. I sit up and rotate my neck around, popping it. "Ugh."

"Buck up!" he tells me. The Doctor jumps down the stairs and goes to the doors. "You are about to enter a world where you can walk on water and grow fairy wings and everybody's skin color is purple with flecks of grey. You should be excited."

"Sorry, but the minor concussion may have distracted me," I say sarcastically.

"Oh, stop being so sour," he says. He grins and guides his hand towards the doors. "Come along, Quigs."

"Okay, three things," I list as I walk up to him. "One: you try not being sour after the day I've had. Two: that is very much a rip off of 'Come along, Pond'. Not that I mind. And three: Quigs? What's Quigs?"

"You're Quigs," he answers simply. "Short for your last name, Quigley. Jenna is too plain. Quigs is not. Quigs is cool."

"Quigs sounds like something you'd call a warthog with the stomach flu," I complain.

"Quigs is a good name!" he defends.

"Call me Jenna," I order. "Everybody calls me Jenna."

"Am I everybody?"

I blink. "Well, no. But-"

"Then come along, Quigs."

I groan. "You're impossible, you know that? You're like a four year old in a nine hundred old body."

The Doctor straightens his bow tie. "Thank you." He starts to open the doors.

"Wasn't a compliment," I sigh.

"Well, I'll take it as—ooh." He peers out the door. "This is most definitely _not_ the Euryphus Belt."

I look outside the TARDIS doors. We're surrounded by multiple pipes and wires. Fluorescent lights high above us dimly light the whole place, which is big and expansive. In front of us is a gray concrete pathway. It's an expansive place, so much that I can't see any walls around us. I feel the damp air and hear the industrial whir of engines and gears.

"It's the belly of a ship," I realize.

He looks at me incredulously. "And how are you so sure?"

I shrug. "Looks like one. And where else could we be? It's either that or some sort of top-secret facility."

"How do you know this isn't some shopping mall or something?" the Doctor asks.

I point to the symbol for radioactive waste labeled on one of the pipes. "I don't know about you, but people don't usually serve uranium in the food court."

The Doctor pulls out the sonic screwdriver and it whirs to life. He checks it and places it back in his pocket. "This is a big ship."

I roll my eyes. "No shit, Sherlock."

"Oh, Sherlock Holmes!" he muses. "Haven't visited him or Watson in a while. Should drop by."

An idea comes to mind and I tap his shoulder. "This Sherlock wouldn't happen to wear a black overcoat and work in early twenty-first century London, would he?"

He frowns. "Well, of course."

I smile. "Sweet."

"Yes, I guess…but back to the point," he draws back in, sounding confused from my off-topic question. "This ship is the _Hesperidia_, a 31st century cargo ship, the biggest spaceship man has currently made. Held the record for quite some time, two. Almost two hundred years before the _Gaia _came and wiped the floor with it."

"And what's so important about that?" I ask, feeling a little bored. I mean, sure, we were in space, but I wanted to visit a _planet_. An actual landform other than Earth to place my feet on.

"The cargo was unknown," he tells me. "Always has been. The crew was sworn to secrecy about what was being carried on here, and when they arrived at their destination it was all gone. Nobody knows what happened to it."

"Fascinating, Nancy Drew," I drawl. "But can we go to an actual planet, please? I mean, cool, we're in space, but every companion gets a planet."

"After a little inspection-"

"Doctor, this is a bunch of pipes and wires. I don't think you'll find anything interesting here."

He sighs. "Fine. Fine! Let's go. No mystery solving, I guess. Come along, Quigs."

"I told you, I don't like the name-"

Something crashes.

We both turn towards the noise. In the distance, a dark shadow moves across and disappears in a shuffle.

"What was that?" I whisper.

"Something interesting," the Doctor says with a smile. He grabs my arm. "Let's go!"

"But the-" I look back to see the TARDIS doors close on their own. "Never mind."

We stop short in the middle of the hallway, silent as the pipes and plumbing rattle around us. The same shuffling noise is heard, and through the maze of wires I see the same shadow moving again.

"Over there!" I whisper to the Doctor. He's standing there, completely still. "Well? I'm not checking it out! You're the one with the sonic screwdriver."

"Jenna," he says in a low voice. "I need you to be very, very still and very, very quiet."

I seize up. "Why?" I ask in a quieter voice.

"Because I believe we are being watched." He looks up. "Or rather, heard."

I look up in the same direction he's looking, seeing nothing. "What's up there?"

"I have no idea," he confesses. "But it's best that we try not to notify it of our existence."

I nod. "Agreed."

"Start walking forward," the Doctor instructs. "And be as quiet as you can. Don't look back, they're moving in that direction."

"But what about the TARDIS?" I ask him.

"She'll be fine," he defends. "The old girl's been through worse." He takes a long, slow step, trying to be as quiet as possible. I start following suit. We move slowly and silently, heading along the corridor in search for a door or an exit.

A minute after this slow, deliberate torture on my small attention span, I hear the whir of the sonic ring loud and clear. It echoes through the large room.

I glare over at the Doctor, who's glaring at his screwdriver. "I need to get this a silent setting," he mutters.

The shuffling noise returns, louder and more prominent. It's disjointed and uneven, meaning that there is more than one creature. It surrounds us, and through the pipes I see them moving around, shadows. I see them peering through the darkness, white pupil-absent eyes. Funny, in the fluorescent light, they almost look—

One of them lunges for me, still a shadow.

"Doctor!"

There's a white flash of light, and I open my eyes. We're in a control room, with multiple desks and counters and buttons. The Doctor is next to me, eyes wide and staring in front of him. I turn to see what he's seeing.

A woman is glaring at us, chin tilted toward her neck with a dangerous look in her eye. She's older, maybe in her early forties. Her hair is in a bun and she has a grey spandex jumpsuit. In her hands lies a long, cylindrical gun, aimed right towards us.

"I'm captain Tory Whirly," she says. "And you're going to tell me how the hell you got here. Or else."

**#**

**Sorry for it being shorter than usual, should get back to my normal length very soon. Feels good to be writing again after a day of work.**

**Watched TATM again today. Not a good idea. Oh well. See you soon! Pretty please review with a cherry on top!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	9. The Damned of the Hesperidia, Part 2

**I love you all with your wonderful, wonderful reviews and favorites and follows! They make my day seem so much better!**

**Okay, part 2 is here. Enjoy it.**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

Okay. Guns and pissed off women. Not a good combination.

I take a moment to observe her more. Her hair's platinum blonde, but so much that you know that it's dyed. Streaks of gray and white are scattered across her scalp. Her venomous green eyes dig into me, making me feel uncomfortable. Around her, an assortment of men and women in the same uniform as her are standing guard, looking quite surprised.

I can't blame them.

"Ah, yes," the Doctor finally says. "Guns. Not very good."

"Who are you?" the woman, Tory, asks out in an anxious and murderous voice. "How did you and that thing of yours get here?"

She nods her head to the left, and the TARDIS stands there, plain and simple, in the midst of the controls.

"You see, it's quite a funny story, really," the Doctor says. "My friend and I were travelling and we landed here accidentally. Didn't mean any harm, planned to leave. But my question is _how_ did you find us?"

"That isn't a good enough answer," Tory continues, ignoring his question. "You could be from the Nabut System for all we know and have come to sabotage the ship."

The Doctor is about to speak when I butt in.

"Then scan us," I say, gulping. "You're all high-tech in here, you've got to have a scanner or a database or something. Scan us and you'll see we mean no harm. We're all perfectly human here."

Tory glares at me for a moment before turning to one of the uniformed people. "You heard the girl, go get the scanner."

The team scrambles to find the device.

The Doctor taps my shoulder. "Quigs-"

"Jenna," I correct.

"Unimportant at the moment, but why have them get the scanner?"

I look up at him. "I told you. I told all of them. It's so that they can see we're human."

"Have you forgotten who I am?" he asks. "Or rather, _what_ I am?"

Oh yeah.

Well that was a lapse of judgment.

One attendant returns with a rectangular beeping device, hands it to Tory, and salutes. I guess she wasn't kidding about the 'captain' part.

A blue light passes over me and blinds me for a second. "Hey!" I exclaim, shielding my eyes.

The device dings.

"Human," Tory reads. "From…well isn't that curious?"

"What does it say?" I ask.

"First it says you're from Earth, original Earth," she reads. "And two…even then, the readings get stranger. Like it's never been seen before."

"What a surprise," I mutter. "But I am human. So…I'm okay, right?"

"Partially," Tory tells me. "Seeing as the solar flares left Earth uninhabited quite a while ago, we're going to have to test you to see why you're not biologically aged to be over four centuries old."

She scans the Doctor, and the device dings again. The captain's eyes widen.

"Impossible," she breathes out.

"Hello!" the Doctor greets, waving his hand.

"But you're supposed to be-" she whispers.

_Dead_, I finished in my head. _Because sometime in the next fifty years he'll be arriving on Lake Silencio and everyone will think he's dead._

"A little early, dear," he explains. "Time travel's a marvelous thing, isn't it?" He's keeping a cheery disposition, but I see the hint of fear in his eyes that sparks for a quick second.

"So are we good?" I ask.

Tory, who's still a little stunned, turns to me. "You are not. We need to figure out how-"

"Didn't you hear me?" the Doctor asks her. "Time travel. Wonderful thing; sometimes makes people's brains hurt but amazing nonetheless."

Tory nods. "Yes, I see." She turns to her crew, who look as bewildered as she is. "Well what are all of you standing there for? Put your eyes back inside your heads and get back to work!"

The crew scrambles again, going back to certain stations and working buttons. I turn around to see a white walls and a windshield displaying the darkness of space dotted with stars of white, red, and blue. I watch holograms appear on screens and even a robot or two as part of the assembled group.

"Whoa," I breathe out. "We're in the future."

"Yes, we are," the Doctor confirms.

"In space."

He nods.

"I'm in the future…in space…in another Universe," I realize. "I've got to be dead by now."

"What is with humans and your fascination in death?" he asks.

I smile. "We don't regenerate every time we're almost finished."

"And neither will I," he reminds me sadly. "But you don't see me obsessing about it."

_How about the fact you're running?_ I want to snap at him, but I hold back. Now's not the time, or the place.

"Hate to interrupt," Tory says, making us turn back to her. "But I need you to sign this."

She holds out a thin holographic sheet that reads "Terms and Conditions".

Yeah, because I'll read _that_.

"I'd like to read this before I sign it," the Doctor tells her. "Never sign before you know what's inside."

Tory smirks. "Of course. Just precaution."

He takes the holographic sheet and immediately drops it with a small wince. "Oi!"

"What? Is it hot or something?" I ask him, bending down and picking up the intact sheet of information. I feel a stinging sensation in my hand and drop the document. "Shit!" I look up to Tory. "What was that?"

"Your signature," she explains with a smirk.

"Of course," he mutters. He slaps his forehead. "Stupid Doctor! 31st century, they use blood samples to seal contracts."

I look at my hand and see three tiny pricks on blood on my palm and then back to the captain. "What did you make us agree to?"

"You cannot leave the ship," she explains simply. "You're just like the rest of us. No access to the escape pods unless completely necessary, no way of contacting any outside help, and no blue box."

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

"Nanobots injected into your bloodstream," Tory tells me. "Try to leave, and they'll shut down your nervous system." She snaps her fingers and a line of soldiers surround the TARDIS. "And looking for something to cure it in your happy little time machine? Don't even try."

"This was an accident!" I tell her. I jab my thumb towards the Doctor. "_He_ got the coordinates wrong or pushed the wrong lever and we ended up here!"

"Like I said," the captain repeats, picking up the contract and dusting it off. "Precaution. There is precious cargo on this ship that only we and a few benefactors know of. Surely you know that. Can't have stowaways snooping around without some insurance."

"But this is cruel!" I yell.

"No, it's safety," the Doctor contradicts in a low voice. "Whatever cargo is here needs to be protected, apparently."

"Once we get to our destination you'll be wiped of the nanobots, and your memory of this voyage on the ship," Tory Whirly informs us. "Until then, we have extra bunker rooms for you to be housed in. Schedules are posted for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"Thank you," the Doctor says with a slight nod. He grabs my arm. "I'm sure we'll be able to find our way to the rooms."

Tory nods, the stern expression still on her face. "Don't wander off, we'll catch it."

He salutes and we walk away from the captain. On the other side of the control room a white automatic door opens and leads us into a steely gray hallway with many doors.

The Doctor continues to walk steadily until I jerk myself from his arm.

"What are you doing?" I ask him in a hushed tone. Who knows whose listening? "We almost get attacked by dark monster things and now we're hostages to a psycho captain with a gun and you're just taking this like a champ!"

He grins and looks at me. "Jenna, there exists a mysterious cargo so _important_ that the crew will get their memory wiped once they finish delivering it. And we happen to be on the ship carrying it."

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "The same ship that's carrying freaky things with eyes that have no pupils and live around in the pipes."

"Stop focusing on the negatives," he orders. He claps and spins around in his usual Doctor-like fashion. "An expansive ship seven miles long and three miles wide, filled to the brim with a mysterious object." He turns to me. "Sounds like adventure."

That brightens my mood. "My first adventure," I breathe out.

"Exactly!" he starts walking forward again, and I follow behind him. "Now, first things first: why did they teleport us up to the deck?"

"Is that how we got there?" I ask.

"What else?" he asks.

I shrug. "I don't know. Divine intervention. Luck."

"We were teleported," he reviews. "But why? And why in that fashion?"

"We were trespassing, they'd want to see who we are," I guess. "And what do you mean by 'that fashion'?"

We turn a corner and he continues to look at the labels of the doors. "Self-teleportation devices have already been invented by now. Little wrist thingies, very stylish. A set area to teleport from isn't that common anymore."

"Then why have it?" I ask him.

He turns to me. "You know how in children's shows they have those nets that pop up whenever you step on them but it always backfires on the builder of the net so that they get comically twisted inside?"

I frown. "Yeah?"

He looks at me with a face that says, "Think about it."

My eyes widen. "Oh! So it's a trap?"

"Yes, a trap! So why would they need a trap? And for what?"

"Maybe to keep those dark things controlled," I suggest. "Like, they're futuristic mouse traps or something and those things are space rats."

"Space rats are much, _much_ bigger," he tells me. "No, there is something going on in this ship. Something not very good." He pulls out his sonic and it whirs to life. Waving it around the walls of the corridor, he checks it and snaps it shut. "Something very, _very_ not very good."

A thought comes to mind. "Why couldn't they just put the traps around the pipes?"

"Radioactive energy," he answers simply. "Messes with the signal. They needed an open space to do it. And those creatures must've figured it out and hid right where they wouldn't be caught."

"Smart little savages," I mutter.

The Doctor frowns. "Excuse me?"

"If you remember, one of them lunged for me," I remind him.

"It doesn't mean they're savages," he tells me sternly. "Perhaps they're misunderstood, or they can't communicate with them."

I gulp. "Okay, okay. Sorry. But they are smart and adaptive, so that must say something. I'm sure it's not everybody's dream to live in the belly of a ship. It's not exactly the Embassy Suites."

He scans the walls again. "I'm going to go investigate further." He points at me. "You stay out of trouble."

I smirk. "Oh, like you won't?"

"I'm very bad at staying out of trouble," he tells me. "You are still learning. So teach yourself and go to the bunkers, wherever they are."

I put my hands on my hips. "You can't tell me what to do!"

"Already have!" he yells back, walking around a corner.

"He's impossible!" I start ranting. Nobody is there to listen. "One minute he's acting like my little brother and the next he thinks he's my dad or something!"

"I prefer uncle!" I hear him say down a ways.

I roll my eyes and lean my forehead against the wall, banging it in a light, slow pattern.

I mean, really? We're stuck here, and he hasn't figured out a way to shut down the nanobots. Couldn't he sonic them or something? Or maybe just try to sneak into the TARDIS? It makes no sense! I—

Oh yeah. I guess 'never apply logic to Who' really is true. It makes your head hurt from my being forcibly slammed into a wall multiple times.

"Are you alright, miss?" a voice asks.

I whip around. A grey-uniformed young man with shaggy brown hair is staring at me, concerned. He looks young, maybe around my age, and like he isn't even supposed to be here. I feel my face flush in embarrassment and giggle slightly.

Okay, sue me. I'm a teenager.

"Yeah," I answer quickly. "Yeah I'm…fine. Perfectly fine."

"Banging your head isn't exactly the qualifications for fine, miss," he tells in a smartass way.

"Well how would you know?" I fire back. "Maybe I'm just…meditating."

He laughs. "Meditating? What, like monks used to do?"

I raise an eyebrow. "What do they do now?"

"They work in the navy, of course," the guy answers. He looks me over. "You sound odd."

"And you look like you should be doing homework rather than being on a ship," I counter. "Looks like we're both very observant."

"You're the girl who's traveling with the Doctor," he points out.

I stick out my hand. "Jenna Quigley, new companion."

He grabs it and shakes me a light handshake. "Matthias Hark." He drops my hand. "So why do you sound so odd?"

I snort. "I'm from America, what do you think? You act like you've never heard my kind of accent before."

"I haven't," he states. "I come from the Starship UK. They didn't allow any American media to be displayed there."

"Then howdy!" I say, putting on a Western accent and laughing. He frowns, confused. "Never mind. So why are you here?"

Matthias smiles proudly. "I'm part of the crew."

I stumble. "B-but you're what, sixteen?"

"Seventeen," he corrects. "Youngest crew member. Formerly passenger until you arrived."

I shrug. "Eh. According to logic, I should've died some millennia ago, so you've still got that one."

"So it's true? You and the Doctor, you travel throughout all of time and space?" He looks like a boy in line to see Santa.

"Pretty sure, yeah," I answer. I start walking and he follows suit. "I've only been travelling with him officially for a day."

"Officially?"

"I…kind of stowed away," I admit sheepishly. "It was an 'in the moment' thing."

"Looks like it's a bad habit you're getting into," he remarks.

I hit him on the shoulder. "Oi! It was an _accident_. According to the Doctor, we were heading for the Furytuss Belt or something or other. But _no_, we land up on here where there's creepy things without pupils that lunge at us and captains who inject nanobots that'll kill you if you step out of line and guys from the future who've never heard of an American accent before and I'm probably rambling, aren't I?"

He shrugs. "A little bit."

I groan. "Stupid TARDIS, bringing us to the stupid _Hesperidia-_"

"I'd hate to interrupt your loathing," Matthias says politely. "But I'm just wondering…"

I look up to him. "Yeah?"

"The Doctor…isn't he supposed to be…?" He brings his finger over his throat.

"Dead?" I finish. "Yeah, sorry buddy. Hasn't exactly happened yet."

"Then how do you know that he's going to snuff it?"

I smile. "I was there."

"But you said that this is your first adventure with him."

"Oh, it is."

"I'm lost."

I look down. "So am I." I pause. "So what're you doing here?"

He looks ahead of him. "Captain Whirly told me and another crew worker to keep an eye on you."

"So you're here to keep me out of trouble?" I wonder.

"Exactly," he confirms with a lopsided smile. I gulp.

It's awkwardly silent for the next while, the only sound being the engines and our footsteps. "So," I start, trying to slice the actually tangible awkward in half, "what do you do here, being the youngest member on the crew? Must get a lot of respect."

He laughs. "Please, me? They either treat me like I'm still in my nappy or like a janitor."

"So what am I, pest control?" I ask, slightly offended.

He looks caught off guard. "Oh, no no! You're actually the biggest assignment I've gotten so far."

I fake swoon. "Well I am honored to hold such a title," I say mockingly. "Biggest assignment. I'll treasure it forever."

"You're very snide," he comments.

"And you're very blunt," I counter. "Besides, it's something that comes with my generation. We're all sarcastic assholes."

He inhales sharply. "Could you tell me more?" he asks.

I look at him. "About what?"

"About your generation. About…Earth, during your time, and what it was like there?"

He seems so wistful, like he's experiencing a long-forgotten memory.

"Don't you have textbooks or touch screen tablets or something for that kind of stuff?" I ask him.

"We've got records and stories," Matthias admits. "But it's nice to hear it from someone firsthand, you know? And everybody else is dead."

"Thanks for the reminder," I mutter sarcastically.

He frowns. "It's the truth."

"Yeah, well, it hurts. And don't tell me about truth, you guys are the ones keeping whatever's on here a secret."

He grins and stops in the hallway, looking around. "Hey," he says.

I stop and turn to face him. "What?"

"How about we make a deal?" he suggests. "Like I said, they treat me like a janitor. Therefore, I got all the keys." He slides a card labeled 'master key' and shows it to me. "I'll show you what's in the belly of the ship and what we're carrying. An answer to all your questions."

"In exchange for…?" I trail off. Oh, please don't be nasty. Pretty _please_ don't be nasty and ruin the only person here who thinks logically.

"For you telling me about Earth, back in your time," he finishes. "I've always wanted to know." He slips the key back into his pocket.

I consider this and shrug. "Sounds legit," I say.

Matthias frowns. "Legit?"

"Slang for 'legitimate'," I explain. Laughter bubbles in my stomach. "Oh, this is going to be _so_ much fun."

"When shall we start, then?" he asks in anticipation.

"In a couple hours," I answer. "After you lead me to the bunkers. I want to rest for a little bit. It's been a weird last 24 hours, or rather 7 days. It's complicated, but let's just say I haven't gotten a decent sleep in a long time."

He nods. "Follow me."

He takes me arm and I feel my blood rush up to my cheeks as he leads me to my room.

We show up at the door and he opens it. The Doctor is already inside on the top bunk bed, fiddling with his screwdriver and pointing it at the ceiling until he notices our presence.

"Oh, hello Jenna!" he says, turning onto his knees and leaning forward on the bed railing. "Sorry about not returning to you. Some bloke started following me around and blocking me off of corridors. Terribly annoying." He looks over to Matthias. "Sorry."

The crew member raises his hand in an apologetic way. "I best get back to the captain anyways," he says. He turns to me. "Don't forget our deal, alright?" He smiles at me.

I smile back. "Yeah, of course. Meet me here in a few hours, alright? Just knock."

He walks out the door. "Will do."

The door shuts behind him.

I look up to the Doctor. "Why do you get the top bunk?"

"I like the top bunk," he explains, "and I called firsties."

I roll my eyes. "You're such a child."

He looks at me curiously. "And you're not?  
I stick my tongue out at him, trying to ignore the heat fuming on my face.

The Doctor giggles slightly. "Thought so."

"Smartass," I mumble. "So what'd you find?"

"Nothing much," he admits. "The guard wouldn't let me see much. Called it a _danger_."

I laugh. "Anything having to do with you is a danger."

He frowns. "Oi! Have you done anything productive?"

I smirk. "In fact, I have."

The Doctor looks caught off guard. "Oh?"

"You know that guy who brought me here?" I remind him, lazily walking over to my bottom bunk.

"The crew member?" he guesses.

"His name's Matthias," I tell him. I smile. "Matthias Hark."

"Yes, didn't he say something about a deal?" he remembers.

"Uh-huh," I answer, lying down.

"Jenna, what exactly have you gotten yourself into?" he asks cautiously.

I frown. "Nothing bad, if that's what you're thinking. I tell him about Earth and he shows me what's being carried here and what's hiding in the belly of the ship."

"Why?" he asks.

"They must be related or something," I guess. "Makes sense. Every cargo has its pest. Rats, insects, mice…why not malicious beasts?"

"Brilliant!" he exclaims. "The plot thickens. Both the cargo _and_ the stowaways kept under wraps."

"Yeah," I say dismissively. "Matthias will be here in a few hours, so I'm going to get some sleep, okay? Don't want to look tired for our meeting."

He's silent up there for a minute before I see his head poke out from above, looking intrigued.

"Wistful talking, dilated pupils," he lists off. He points the sonic at me and it whirs for a second before he checks it. "And accelerated breathing and heart rates."

"What does that have to do with anything?" I ask.

"You fancy him," the Doctor states.

I laugh in disbelief. "What? I do not _fancy_ him!" I turn away from him, trying to hide my face turning red.

"Yes, you do," he states. His head goes back up the top bunk. "Now, Jenna, we are on an important mission. Interact and get information all you want, but do not fraternize too much."

My mouth goes into an 'O' shape. "I don't _fancy_ him and I'm certainly not going to _fraternize_ with him either! I'm getting information, and so what if I do? Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically, there could be some nastiness. We're investigating what they're hiding, and once we find out it may not be pretty."

"But he agreed to show me it," I argue.

"Now, I don't blame you. You're all human-y and adolescent with chemicals and hormones controlling your every thought. I'm just telling you to be cautious."

"I will." I yawn. "Now let me sleep."

"Of course, want your beauty rest for your date, eh?"

"It's not a date."

"According to the human standard, I believe a date is when two people who are attracted to each other go and do an activity or some sort. Therefore, it is a date."

I groan. "Goodnight Doctor."

"Goodnight, Quigs."

I kick the mattress of his top bunk.

"Oi!" he cries out.

I smile and fall asleep.

**#**

**Part 3 will be up soon.**

**I hope this was good. I imagine Jenna and the Doctor having this father/brother, child/sister kind of relationship, so I hope that's portrayed here.**

**To answer a reviewer's question, I'm actually sixteen, so it's a little close to Jenna's age. I tried not to make it a self-insert, because Jenna is far more outspoken than me. I just picked some instances in my life to help, so hopefully this doesn't seem like a self-insert.**

**Anyways…**

**Review if you can, and do all those other fanfiction things if possible.**

**Toodles for now!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	10. The Damned of the Hesperidia, Part 3

**Hello lovely people! I'm back again.**

**This is will most definitely be a 4-5 part story arc, just so you know. A lot can happen in a Doctor Who episode, you can't just glaze over it.**

**This will have some weird perspective-changes seeing as there's parts where the Doctor has found something out but Jenna's not there. In that case, Doctor stuff will be **_**italicized**_** for maximum clearness.**

**So yeah. Part 3. Woo-hoo.**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

"Quigs!"

I mumble underneath my pillow. "I told you not to call me that."

"Quigs, you need to get up."

"Doctor, I'm sleeping," I tell him. "Sleeping is scared time. Don't interrupt sacred time."

"Quigs, wake up," the Doctor urges.

I keep myself under the pillow. "No."

"Wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey! Get up!" he sing-songs. He shakes me.

"Do you have an off button or something?" I ask him. "I want to use it. Badly."

"Jenna, get up," he orders.

I pull the pillow off of my head. "Why?"

He smirks in such a smartass way I want to slap him. "You'll be late for your date."

I roll my eyes. "Doctor, I told you, it's not a—wait, what?"

"That bloke, Matthias, he's just outside the door," he tells me.

I bolt up from my horizontal position, effectively hitting the railing guarding the upper mattress. "Fucking shit!" I yell in frustration, slapping my hand onto my head.

"If you're going to impress a boy swearing isn't exactly the way to do it," he says.

I glare at him. "Shut it, you." I get up and run my fingers through my hair, putting my hat back on and brushing myself off. "How do I look?"

He frowns, confused. "Human, of course," he answers. "Well, actually more along the lines of Time Lord, since we came first. But if you want it in a figurative sense, I'd say you've a pinkish color to your skin and-"

I shake my head. "No, how do I _look_? You know, am I presentable?"

"I'm pretty sure the red mark appearing on your forehead isn't very common for these things," he points out.

I groan, slapping said area. "Ugh, this is _your_ fault!"

He looks offended. "Me? How is it my fault? You're the one who hit yourself on the forehead!"

I jab my finger into his chest. "_You're_ the one who decided to investigate. _You're_ the one who picked up the contract first. _You're_ the one who decided we split up to cover more ground. And_ you're_ the one who woke me up late!"

I hear somebody knock behind me. "Jenna? You there?"

My eyes go wide and I fiddle with my appearance a little more. I spy a bug on the wall. Ugh, even in space there are infestations.

The Doctor scoffs. "And you don't call it a date. Be careful!"

I glare at him again. "What do you know? The definition of date might've changed from your standards. And when's the last time you've had a date, huh?"

He puts his hands on the lapels of his tweed jacket. "That's not the point."

I clap my hands and laugh. "Oh, I almost forgot about River! How is she?"

The Doctor shifts uncomfortably and waves me away. "You're going away from the subject. Now go do your research, I'll do mine."

I salute. "Aye, aye, Captain!" I waltz over to the door and am about to open the door.

"And be careful," he adds darkly. "I know this may be hard, but don't get yourself too attached to him."

I smile. "I'll try," I lie.

I open the door to see Matthias leaning against the hallway, talking to a device on his wrist.

"—Operation 904," he says. "Precautionary actions have started. I—oh, you're here!" He snaps the device on his arm shut.

"In the flesh," I say with a laugh. I look back to the Doctor, who's glaring at the boy, analyzing him. "Ignore him, he's old."

"Oi!" the Doctor calls out. I shut the door.

I look at his wrist. "What were you just talking about?"

He smiles. "Oh, nothing," he dismisses. "Just janitorial work."

I raise an eyebrow. "Operation 904?" I repeat.

"Means I have to take care of something or other," he explains. "But I can do that later."

"Cool," I tell him. "So what do you want to do first?"

Matthias grins widely. "I want to learn about Earth…about all of it."

"That might be a little too much, considering there's about a million plus years of history from my perspective," I inform him. "How about my Earth, during my time?"

"That's alright," he says. He points down the hallway. "There's a closet a ways down. No cameras or anything. We can talk about it in there."

I raise an eyebrow. "A closet?" I repeat. "Sounds a little sketchy."

"How so?" he asks. Aw, he's such an innocent child, even if he is older than me by a year or two.

I blush. "Well…um…back in my time, couples would sneak out of class and go into closets to…uh…" I laugh nervously. Oh, this is an awkward subject.

"To what?" he asks curiously.

I sigh. "Oh, how do I say this? Uh…do things not allowed to the public eye. Get down and dirty. Play unconventional Twister."

He gives a blank stare.

I blurt the word out. "Procreate."

His eyes go wide. "Ah…yes, none of that. Just a secret place, you know? Captain Whirly wouldn't be too happy with me talking to you."

"How can you stand her?" I ask. I clear my throat. "No offense."

"No, I get it. She's strict, but knows how to control a crew. It's a respect thing."

I nod.

"So the closet's alright?" he asks.

I smile. "The lead the way," I say. We walk in silence for a little bit until he stops at one of the many unimportant doors and slides the master key into the slot. It reveals an old fashioned broom closet, or rather what I would call a regular broom closet. Future-present points of view are very confusing.

I walk in the sit down on the floor and he sits next to me. I can feel his knee brush against mine and I thank whatever's out there for the fact that it's dark and he can't see me turn red.

Oh dear God. I'm on a date.

_A date_. Me. On one.

"Jenna?" I hear Matthias say. "Jenna, you want to start?"

I shake away the disbelief in my head and smile at him. "Uh, yeah. Sure. I gulp. "So what do you want to know?"

"What was it like there?" he asks. "I've heard that the skies were a brilliant blue and there was rolling fields that lasted thousands states and countries."

I laugh. "Eh, you're half right with the blue skies. But in my time we had a lot of industrialization. Cities, suburbs, all that kind of stuff. We had fields, but they didn't last miles or kilometers or whatever kind of measurement you use now."

"Kilometers," he answers.

I wave my hand. "Whatever. It got really polluted in some areas, like Los Angeles and other heavily modern places. Became a big problem, with greenhouse gasses and other things. So sometimes the sky wasn't blue, but a sicker color. Oh, and then when the clouds came in…you know about clouds, right?"

He nods. "We'd get stardust clouds sometimes that darkened the streets for days on end."

"Stardust clouds?" I repeat. "Huh. All ours were composed of water vapor. But they would make the sky go gray whenever they covered your area. Most of the time they were less expansive and kind of dashed the sky lightly. It became a game to try to find pictures in them."

"Pictures in the clouds?" he asks, laughing. "That's ridiculous. There aren't any physical pictures in clouds."

I roll my eyes. "No, moron. Like shapes, familiar formations. Flowers, faces, animals, all of that kind of stuff."

"I went to the oxygen factory in the ship once for a school trip," Matthias tells me. "Me and a couples of my mates snuck away from the tour guide and explored the all the wildlife up close, because they would only let us see through a glass."

"How'd you get into the area, then?" I ask.

"Found a door saying 'Authorized Personnel Only' and hoped for the best."

I laugh. "God, I'd never have the guts to do that. Back in high school reputation was everything. Step out of line and they told you it'd come back to haunt you past college."

"At least you have the promise of college. Once you get past the age of fifteen, unless you're extremely brilliant, you get shipped off for training. I, obviously, finished earlier than most."

I raise an eyebrow. "Training?"

"For the war," he tells me. "Against the aliens in the Nabut System. They're all claws and jaws. We call then Crabs. Sometimes they'll stage a mutiny and disguise themselves as humans to get aboard ships like these."

"Is that what Captain Whirly was talking about?" I ask. I laugh once, a short one. "Funny, us humans. We're always at war, no matter where you go in time and space."

"Oh really? Wasn't it peaceful back where you had your own planet? Most battles come over trying to find a place to settle, you possibly couldn't have had that problem."

"Eh, land is—was, sorry—still a problem. Back in my time, we'd been fighting a war for nearly ten years. Wasn't pretty, but it's over now, isn't it?"

"Where'd you live?" he asks.

"In America, obviously," I say. "But if you want specifics, I was in this state to the west, Oregon. Lived near the city of Portland. It was small, but we had the weirdest people and events. Always entertaining."

Matthias smiles. "That sounds nice."

I sigh. "I'd show you, but I don't exactly have pictures." I pause. "Actually, I might. Never mind that last statement." I pull out my phone and press in the password.

"What _is_ that?" he asks.

I frown and look at him. "A phone. What do you think it is?"

"_That _was what the phones looked like back then?" he inquires. He takes and examines it. "It's so…primitive. Where's the voice interface or the psychic connection module?" He dangles it between two fingers.

I take the phone back from him. "Oi, it's an iPhone and it's very fragile!"

"An iPhone? Those things are ancient! A collector would pay 70k just to _touch_ it."

I look at the black screen. "Huh. Might come in handy later, if I'm in need of cash. But this contains personal stuff, can't just give it to some guy and say 'have fun'."

"What do you have on there?" he asks. "It's not anything illegal, correct?"

I gape. "What kind of girl do you think I am?"

He raises his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, sorry. Just a standard question. I don't exactly like the idea of being in a dark closet with a felon."

"Yeah, well don't make me become one with those questions of yours," I warn him, but quickly smile. "Want to see what Earth looks like?"

He nods, and I open my pictures.

"This is—was—my friend Natty," I explain. "We were at the movies and she was really obsessed with this one actor, Andrew Garfield. So we took this picture of her hugging the cardboard cutout of him." I slide to another one. "This is the beach my family always went to, when the sun was setting."

"But it's just a star," he says.

I frown. "It was a _wonderful_ star, thank you very much."

"I've seen thousands of stars, big and little. This one isn't much different."

"I don't care, it was ours and it was awesome," I almost yell at him. "And now it's gone. All gone."

"Can't you just travel back in time to it?" he asks, completely oblivious.

I smile sadly. "Nah, it wouldn't be the same."

"But can't you just go back to your time whenever you want with the Doctor?"

"And can't you just stop asking stupid questions?" I snap back. I sigh and slide to the next picture, but see what it is and go to the next one in a fluid motion.

"Wait, what was that?" Matthias asks.

"Nothing, it's a stupid photo," I tell him. "Just stock, a repeat."

"No," he says, sounding completely certain. "It's something. Otherwise you would've shown me."

"How do you think you know me so well?"

"It's easy to be taught how you tick." He smiles cockily. "And I'm a fast learner."

"Oh, you think so?" I fire back.

"I know so."

Okay, flirting by banter. Never thought that would happen.

I clear my throat and focus back on the phone. "I've also got music on here," I tell him. I open the iPod app and press shuffle. "This one's one of my favorites." _Cough Syrup_ starts playing.

"Show me the picture," he orders. It's dark, and slightly frightening.

"No," I tell him. "Enjoy the classics; don't worry about photos that don't even matter now."

He shrugs. "Fine." I relax, and that's a stupid thing to do because he snatches the phone from my hands and goes back to the picture app, moving one back. "Who're they?"

I blush and lean over to look at the phone. I point at the girl. "That's my best friend, Adie," I explain. "And the guy is her boyfriend, Hal. They went out for a couple months before they broke it off."

"They're stuck to each other's faces," he observes.

I laugh. "Yeah, I found them like that and took a picture. It was nothing, but I joked about it being blackmail material."

"But they're almost swallowing each other," he continues.

I raise an eyebrow. "What, is that not how you show affection? You don't kiss?"

He shakes his head. "Nope."

"Then what do you do?" I ask.

He smiles. "Let me show you."

If I ever imagined my first kiss, I would've never imagined it in the broom closet of an intergalactic space ship in the future. Or with a guy two years old than me.

But it's happening and I'm a very happy camper.

His lips are soft and nice and dear god I'm actually being kissed by someone Shouldn't I kiss back? I probably should.

This goes for a couple seconds before he pulls away, and I feel happy, confused, bubbly, and slightly angry all at once.

I should giggle or twirl my hair, right? Isn't that what most girls do?

I grin like a fool. "That was the same thing, idiot," I respond, laughing.

Apparently I am not most girls.

"So what if it was?" he asks.

I come down from my high and blink. "So, uh, do you want to talk about Earth more or something?"

He shrugs. "I'd rather not."

I go back to grinning again. "Good." And I kiss him back.

The music continues to play in the background.

_Losing my mind, losing my mind. Losing control._

#

_Jenna's footsteps fade away after a couple minutes and he's left to his own devices in the bunker. It's very quiet here, and he doesn't like quiet. That's why the TARDIS is constantly humming and beeping. Quiet is silence, and silence was something he's never liked and hates even more now._

_The Doctor looks up and around. He should go searching, but where to start? The ship is gigantic, with so many rooms and spaces. He needs to narrow it down._

_Okay, so this is obviously a 31__st__ century ship. The engines and basic functions are kept at the bottom, where they were previously. At the moment they are at the top part, where the observation deck and living functions are. Which means the cargo must be someplace in the middle._

_He's thinking this out loud, moving around the bunk beds and keeping himself moving. It's only when he looks up that he sees something peculiar._

"_Hello there," he says, pulling out the sonic and moving up close to the wall. There's a beetle, a shiny black beetle, on the wall. Insects are kept to the oxygen supply, sealed tight inside. And one simply crawling on here is impossible without it dying from the lack of vegetation._

_He whirs the sonic and beetle combusts with a tiny popping sound, falling to the ground._

"_Just as I thought," he mumbles. "Camera disguised as a bug, set to not catch the attention of us who're common to Earth. This crew is smart." He looks down. "Which means they have to be." He squats and touches the floor. "What's under there?"_

_It's time to investigate._

_He's got to avoid the crew, especially if he's able to reach the mid-levels. That nasty guard wasn't too kind to show him anything._

_The Doctor silently slips out of the bunker room, moving across the hallways and looking out for any other bugs. He's sure at some point they'll see the footage of him shorting out the one in the room, and prepares to run. He's come to like running, since he has to do it so often. Keeps him going._

_The ship is like a labyrinth, with many corridors to go and explore. It could take hours for him to find out how to maneuver it. If he were human, and not clever, that is._

_To find the cargo he's got to find the carriers, the ones who look after it. A couple of official looking people pass a couple hallways in front of him, not even acknowledging his presence. Of course. Higher-ups have no time for the others._

_He's found who he's going to follow._

_He's got to be stealthy, psychic paper won't work on these people. They know who he is, and will surely try to cease his exploration any further. So he keeps a distance, and ceases to use the sonic because of the noise. He should really install a silent setting, it'd come in handy. But the whirring sound is so delightful, and it ends any silence. And that's something worth the noise._

_He hears the murmurs between the two colleagues and listens in._

"…_Hark's gotten moved up," one of them says._

"_The kid?" the other asks. "How?"_

"_It's not much more than he usually does, taking out the trash," the first one explains nonchalantly. "Just that the trash is a little more curious than needed to be. The Evos will sort them out."_

"_Ever since they broke out a month ago they've been getting worse," the second one complains. "They've been clawing into the pipes and vents trying to find a way out."_

"_They'll die out in those pipes soon enough," the first one reminds the other. "They're not cannibals, they'll starve. The only reason they've been alive for so long are the food disposal systems."_

"_But we redirected those," the second one says._

"_Exactly," the first one tells them. He can hear the smile in their voice and notices its female. There's a pressing of buttons, and he can hear the different tone for each one…3561, most likely, and there's a swoop._

_The Doctor turns around the corner and sees an empty elevator opening, all white and pristine. Nobody's coming, they're probably all at the observation deck or wherever this cargo is._

_He sees a number of levels and then a number pad. He presses in the buttons. Of course, they're correct, and the lift shuts closed._

_While it's moving, he ponders the conversation. The things they were talking about, Evos, seemed like the creatures they had seen on the ship. Sounded like them, at least. Surrounded by pipes, a pest seen by the crew members. But they had said they'd escaped. So what had they been before?_

_And Hark…wasn't that the one Jenna was blushing over? He'd been promoted, that's nice. Promotion is good. Still a janitor, but it's the symbolism that counts._

_The lift bell dings and it opens to an empty white hallway with multiple doors and glass panes to look into. He saunters in, raising the screwdriver and analyzing every detail he can see._

_He looks at the readings and clicks it shut. "Expected," he says aloud. The readings say that this is where a lot of things are kept._

_The Doctor walks in further, to peer inside the glass panes. He's expecting to ee boxes and crates labeled "Do Not Open"._

_What he does not expect is a dark room illuminated by black lights, filled with cocoon-like pods lined in never-ending rows._

"_Now that's curious," he comments. "Looks like a farm or growth plant of some sort. But for what?"_

"_Section A is secure," a voice says in the distance. The Doctor panics and steps into the room, closing the door quietly. Muted voices filter in. "Section B had a potential breakout, and Section C has been completely wiped out due to their malfunctions."_

_The voice fades and the Doctor looks upon the room with fascination. The pods are black and have multiple screens at the end of them. Going to one of the closest ones, he sees brain scans and other measures of bodily functions. To the side is basic information._

"_Evo 2371," he reads aloud. "Sex: male. Aged 19 years. Shown little to no resistance. Malfunction-free."_

_What is an Evo? He looks down a couple more pods. All are labeled with that name, along with a serial number, like a product. And it has a gender, and ages. All of them do._

"_Living cargo," he realizes. "This is a slave ship."_

_But what is being enslaved here? He's never heard of the Evos before. He's met emus and a species called the Ivos, but never has he met such a species. He moves along the pod and finds a niche. He grabs it and lifts._

_Steam rises and liquid drips from the side, making pitter-patter noises. It's connected to many wires, eyes closed and calm. It's soaking in an ice blue substance, wearing the same kind of jumpsuit the rest of the crew wear, except instead of gray it is black._

"_No," he breathes out. "No, you poor things."_

_He shuts the lid and leans on it, hands in his hair. He stays like that for a good minute until he takes a deep breath and pats the containment unit._

"_I'm going to get you out," he says. "Even if it's the last thing I do, I will get you out."_

_He hears the door open and light pours in, blocked off only by the silhouette of one of the crew members._

"_Oi, what're you doing here?" they ask._

_He smiles. "Ah, hello. Got bored, decided to walk around for a bit. Found these things, quite interesting, actually. May I ask what you are doing with them?"_

_The scientist brings up his wrist. "The Doctor has found the Evos. I repeat, the Doctor has the Evos. Permission to bring out Operation 904?"_

_Operation 904…why did that sound familiar? Didn't Matthias say something about an Operation 904?_

"_Permission granted," a disembodied voice allows._

_The crew worker glares at the Doctor and pulls out a small piece of white cloth wrapped around something._

_The Doctor does what he always does: run._

_But the crew member is quick, and unwraps a transparent semicircle. He unfolds it into a complete disk and throws it, having it fly over the Doctor's head and skid on the ground. The Doctor is too busy running to notice it land in front of him._

_One step inside it and he's running down an aisle of pipes._

_He skids to a stop rather clumsily, blinking and looking at his surroundings._

"_Transported," he realizes. "Back down to the belly of the ship." He gulps. "Right where the creatures live. Operation 904."_

_He realizes what has happened._

"_I need to find Jenna."_

**#**

Back where I was before, I always got grossed out by couples making out. Something didn't feel right whenever I passed them, and I had this compulsion to scream at then to get a room.

But now I understand the appeal.

Kissing is awesome. And so is making out. And snogging. And pressing lips together. They're all amazing.

By now the song has ended and one of us pulls away. I think it's me, but I can't tell. My pulse is so loud I can hear in my ears, making me lose concentration. I blink, and Matthias is there, staring at me.

"Wow," I giggle out. Next comes a sigh as I lean against the wall of the closet. "My first kiss. Wow."

"Thanks for the compliment," Matthias laughs. "Always a good confidence booster."

I swat his shoulder. "Shut up. Let a girl enjoy the moment while it lasts."

He stays silent for a moment before inhaling sharply. "So, what else is there to know about Earth? What kind of transport did you all use?"

"Nah, you kind of ruined the nostalgic moment," I say.

"Anything more?"

I laugh. "Hey, I kept my side of the bargain," I point out. " Now you've got to keep yours. Show me what's in the ship."

He grins. "Thought you'd never ask."

I stand up. "I'm a patient girl, I can wait things out."

"I doubt it," he responds. He stands up as well.

"Well, if you hadn't distracted me maybe I would've asked earlier," I respond. He pushes the master key inside the slot and the door slides open again. We walk out, and I feel cool air rush onto my face.

He shrugs and the little thing on his wrist beeps in. A voice comes in all static-like.

"Have you carried out Operation 904?" it asks.

Matthias frowns and leans in on his wrist. "Not yet, about to. How has the other been doing?"

"The other was taken care of," it answers. "Yours is the only one left. Hurry up, boy."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," he snaps. I jump. I haven't heard him like this before. "I'm carrying out as we speak. Give me ten minutes, alright?"

"Ten minutes," the voice reminds him, and clicks off.

I raise an eyebrow. "What was that?"

He looks up, returning to his goofy smile. "Nothing, the crew just wants me to do pest control down in the belly of the ship. Should've done it a while ago, but you know…"

"We can go down there now," I tell him. "I mean, half of your deal was that you'd show me what almost got me, right?"

He smiles. "Yeah, I guess so. Here, we'll use the quick way." He digs into his pocket and pulls out a white sheet. "Transportation pad. Only works one way, needs to touch solid ground to work. We use these to get down without the creatures hearing us." He holds up his wrist. "These self-teleports crack whenever you use 'em."

He unwraps the sheet and clicks the pad into a full three-foot wide clear circle. He drops it to the floor and offers his hand.

"Come on," he commands, but it's not jokingly. It's much more serious.

I hesitantly grab it and stand next to him.

"One…two…three!"

We jump and the next thing I know I can smell the plumbing and metal. Opening my eyes, I see one of the many hallways between the sections of pipes, and feel the absence of Matthias's hand.

"Operation 904 has been carried out," I hear him say. I whip around to see him talking to his communicator. "Precautionary actions have been done. Subject called Jenna Quigley has been left to the malfunctioned."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I ask.

He turns and looks at me with so little emotion he could almost be a robot. "Sorry it had to end this way, Jenna, but you know business. Can't have stowaways starting an uprising."

"What?" I ask.

He talks into his communicator again. "Teleport back up the observation deck," he orders. The air starts to pop around him. "Have fun with the vermin, Jenna."

In a quick snap, he's gone.

That _douchebag_.

"Come back!" I yell, feeling my throat get thick. "Come back you stupid asshole!"

Then the shuffling noise starts.

The creatures, they're here. He left me with a bunch of malicious_ things._

That ultra-mega-douchebag.

A low growl comes from my left. I start to back away from it, but trip over my feet and fall to the ground. My phone spills out from my pocket, and I look to the source of the noise.

In the shadow, it's crouched low. I can't see the basic shape, it's too dim here to make an outline.

But I see the white, empty eyes peering at me with fascination.

And those eyes do not look happy.

**#**

**Cliffhanger! Dun dun DUNNNNNNNN**

**This chapter was difficult to write, for some odd reason. I guess it's just the problem with getting the words right.**

**Review please, and tell me how I'm doing! Your support keeps me going!**

**Until next time, lovelies.**

**-JustStandingHere**


	11. The Damned of the Hesperidia, Part 4

**Okay, loves, time for Part 4. This will most definitely be a 5-parter. So sorry for the length, other adventures will be shorter and/or condensed into less chapters. It's just that this is the first official companion adventure and it is very special to me.**

**And so sorry if the last chapter ruined your opinion of Matthias Hark, but I'm trying to channel my inner Moffat for these bits and therefore have become a bit of a sadist.**

**Disclaimer: I own a driver's permit. I do not, however, own Doctor Who. I own Jenna, and even that's in debate.**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

This is not the best situation to be in. Alone, defenseless, and in the presence of a creature that tried to attack me earlier.

Yeah, not exactly sunshine and rainbows.

I start scurrying backwards, trying to get away. Maybe I can tire it out. No, I'd run out of breath before I got twenty feet away. I shouldn't have neglected running so much before, or exercise.

The growl gets louder, and the white eyes narrow in determination. It moves closer.

"Please, just leave me be," I plead. "I'm not doing any harm, see?" I raise my hands in surrender. "No harm. None. We can be friends. You want to be friends? Best buddies?"

The growl escalates.

I stop my bargaining and scurry back even more, hitting something on the ground and hearing a small cracking sound. I look down to see my iPhone with a large split down the middle.

Great. Another joy to add to this wonderful day.

The little iPod menu is being displayed, but I don't have much time to think about it as the growl becomes a deep-throated roar.

I move back further, and I believe that's when my finger grazes over the "play" button. I don't know, but the next thing I hear is "Sweet Dreams" by Eurythmics.

I like the classics, don't judge me.

The growling stops as Annie Lennox's voice bounces off of the metal pipes.

From the darkness of the pipes a child emerges, crawling on all fours and hesitantly making its way to my phone. It picks it up between its long fingers, sniffing it and listening closely.

He's Caucasian, with dirty (literally, as in covered in mud and grime) blonde hair, and is wearing a loose gray crew worker jumpsuit with the little symbol on the left side of the chest. His eyes are devoid of irises and pupils, which makes me think he's blind. He's taller than most, and thinner as well. His ears are curved in more. But the weirdest thing about him is the mouth.

It looks like it doesn't exist.

Of course, after it sniffs it, it drops its jaw. The flesh opens up to reveal a bunch of teeth. He's like a shark.

He's going to _eat my phone_.

"Hey, give that back!" I yell, getting off of my ass and standing up.

The odd child drops the device and widens his eyes, acknowledging me. He closes his mouth, changing it back into nonexistence, and backs away quickly, going back to its hiding spot in the pipes.

I pick up my phone, examining the crack and turning off the music. Eh, I'll fix that later. I crouch down and look the child right in the eyes.

"Hey, what's up with you?" I ask. "You almost jump me and now you're like a kid in timeout!"

He huddles away deeper into the plumbing, shaking slightly.

I exhale and have an epiphany. Never thought I'd have one of those.

"You're scared," I realize. "You, all of you. You're all scared of something."

He stops shaking.

I remember what the Doctor sad earlier.

"_It doesn't mean they're savages. Perhaps they're misunderstood, or you can't communicate with them."_

I kneel down and open my arms. "Come here, I won't hurt you."

He stays there, not even blinking.

I look at my phone. "You want me to play the music again?" I press the button and shake the device, setting it to shuffle. "Viva la Vida" echoes through the area.

The child starts crawling again, slowly and hesitantly. He kind of looks like Tarzan, all big-eyed and bewildered. He stands in front of me, looking up at me every other second as he inches towards the source of the music.

He pauses before the device, looking up at me.

"Go on, take a look," I allow. "Just don't eat it, throw it, or drop it, alright? I used all my babysitting money to pay for that."

He picks it up, turning it around in his hands and grinning, at least by what I can see. His cheeks lift and his eyes squint, so I think he's smiling somehow.

"Never seen anything like you before," I comment. He looks up at me, snapping out of his moment of curiosity. "Are you an alien species? You're humanoid…are you some kind of human-like species, like homo reptilia?"

He starts gesturing, using his hands and fingers to make symbols.

"I don't understand sign language," I tell him. He sags in defeat. "But you can understand me, right?"

He nods, gesturing a little more before realizing what he's doing and stopping.

"You can't speak?" I ask.

He gestures to his absence of mouth, and then opens his jaw to show his rows and rows of teeth, pointing to his tongue, or where a tongue is supposed to be.

I sigh, drawing one side of my mouth up and thinking. "Can you write?" I ask him, scrawling something into the grime of the dirty floor.

He nods, and starts scribbling on the floor, drawing a picture of a star.

"Is that where you're from?" I ask.

He shakes his head, then points to the star again, bringing his finger up to the emblem on his loose shirt.

"You came from here, on the ship?" I guess. He nods. "Do you have a name?"

He thinks for a minute, and pulls up his shirt sleeve, revealing a black serial number. He's been branded.

"Oh, no, honey," I say, trying to keep a calm voice. "No, that's not a name."

He looks down.

I look around. I don't know if there are others, so I've got to keep watch. I don't think they'd like me talking with one of their kids.

I smile. "Hey," I call, making him look up. "You want a name?"

He nods vigorously.

"Okay…" I think, trying to figure out a good name for him. "How about Harry?"

He grimaces and shakes his head.

"No? Uh…Terrence."

He grunts twice in a "nuh-uh" sort of way.

I tap my finger on the ground. "Um…Benny. Does Benny work?"

He nods and opens his mouth to smile, but it just looks terrifying.

"Yeah…okay," I draw out, shivering slightly. "So, Benny, how did you get here? And why did you want to attack me?"

He starts drawing again, but I can't make sense of the pictures. Ovals, stick figures, and stars are all I see.

"I still don't understand," I tell him.

He looks around, trying to find something to communicate with, and then looks down at his hands in surprise. He gets up and walks towards me, placing his hands on his head and leaning his forehead against mine.

_I'm not in the belly of the ship anymore._

_Instead, I'm looking up at men and women, poking and prodding me. I squirm around, sloshing in blue liquid slightly. One pokes me too hard, trying to draw blood, and I finally lose it. I've been a subject for too long. I slash out, trying to grab something to escape. The people jump back, closing the pod. The gas erupts, and I try to stay awake. Come on, stay awake, stay awake…_

_Next, I'm in a large room with many just like me. Evolutionary Humans, or Evos, is what they call us. All dressed up in our black suits compared to their gray. We're trying out our motor skills, I hear them say. Others just do as they say, walking and going into the caged areas to fight. A couple of us, me included, try to ask what they mean by "motor skills", but we don't have mouths. They won't let us touch them, so we can't transfer memories like we do to talk to each other. So one of us, the tall one named 5801, shows us something she's seen the database placed in our heads. A way of speaking not using mouths. So we sign our way to asking them, and they're taken aback. Us who ask them are brought back to the pods. The gas is sprayed again. I stay awake longer this time, I've been getting good at it. But I still fall asleep anyways._

_Every time we're set in the room for our motor skills we talk in secret, using the sign language but modifying it. They still call us "malfunctioned" because we aren't like the rest who blindly move along like robots. But we talk of escaping, seeing the worlds we've been taught about and live our lives not like this, being trained for the army decks. We know what's ahead for us, being soldiers. 5801 says that if we fight the gas we could get out of the pods and hide someplace until we land. So I keep trying every night and fight it a little more every time._

_One day we go back to the arena for combat and learning how to fight and notice 5801 is missing. 4367 says that when he was being poked he saw her pod being taken away. He thinks she's gone, but I don't believe it. She's escaped, I know she has. And that means we can as well. I take this as a time for uprising. Others think this too, but only because they think 5801 is dead and she'd want us to go._

_That night I fight the gas. It's hard, but once I keep my eyes open. I'm seeing things funny, all like I'm in a thermal camera. So the kid's not blind, okay. Good to know._

_They've made me strong, made all of us actually, so it's easy to break open the pod. Once I do that, I look around to see the place empty at the moment. I find 7008 and 4499 have escaped as well, and we free a couple others. We walk out, gathering our knowledge and going into the elevator, as it seems to be the only way out. Before we press the button to go up, one of the people see us, wide-eyed. They shout things into their wrists, but 4367 presses the button before they can do anything else._

_We journey around the ship until we're spotted. They try to detain us, capturing a few and sending them back to end up like 5801, some say. I still don't think she'd dead, she's smart. 5801 would've escaped._

_We find the garbage chute and end up here, in the belly of the ship. It's so large and extensive that we're able to hide easily, and the food disposal system gives us food._

_We've been here a week. Some others have joined us, those from other sections who heard of our feats. We survive together, waiting until the ship will dock and we will finally gain freedom. We still haven't found 5801, but I search for her every day. The others think of me as foolish._

_Me and 6671 are messing with the radiation pipes, trying to stop the flow of the gas we're given. Radiation is the only thing that neutralizes us. But we hear the footsteps, and the gray-uniformed ones look at us. "Got you," they say, firing at us. We have no choice and attack, defeating them easily. They try to kill us, so we get them first. The clothing is nice, and we take because ours are getting dirty._

_We decide not to trust those with the uniforms anymore. But 5879 comes back one day with news of those like the gray-uniformed who are dressed differently. There are two of them. We watch them, and we notice they're about to step on the traps the uniformed ones put up some time ago. 5879 tries to get them away from it, but they disappear before he can._

_They've shut off the food supply, so we climb to the top of the pipes and try to get into the middle floors for food. We're starving, and eating the uniformed ones seems wrong. They are a part of us, we simply can't._

_One of the non-gray uniformed walks among me. A gray one is talking to her. She must be one of them. We were wrong. They are not good._

_But she looks frightened when I get ready to get her before she gets me. And the prettiest noise comes from her black square. She wants to know everything, but I can't talk. Speech means freedom, and they don't like us like that._

_But she's willing to touch me, so I do._

I blink and clutch my head. Benny's practically loaded his whole life story on me. I look up, and notice he's signing, looking around. I turn around to see many like him, other Evos, crouched at me. He's signing frantically, and one other is signing back.

He taps me and then points to himself. He directs his finger over to the whole congregation of modified humans, which has about five or six persons in total. He points up.

"You want to go up?" I guess.

They all nod.

"Why, exactly?"

They pound their fists on their hearts. It's a basic symbol, a recognizable one.

"You want to be free, and you'll be stuck down here otherwise if you don't find a way up," I analyze.

One of them, a woman, signs to Benny. He signs back, and then clings to me.

"You can trust me," I tell them. "I'll help you out. But I need to get a hold of a friend first. He's very clever, and he-"

"Jenna! It's a trap! The date's a trap!" I hear a familiar British voice call out.

I sigh. "He's here," I finish. I turn to see the Doctor running towards me, which is awkward because Benny is still hanging onto me.

It's nice to see him again after being away from him for a good hour or two. He skids to a stop, hair askew, looking shocked.

"Matthias, he's-"

"A traitorous assface?" I complete. "Yeah, I got that."

He stares at me for a moment before shaking it off. "The cargo, it's-"

"Evos, like Benny here," I say, smiling.

"Well, yes," he considers, obviously disappointed he can't explain everything to me. "And they're—wait a minute, who's Benny?"

I nod down to the Evo child that's attached to me. "This is Benny. He's got a serial number, but I'm horrible at memorizing things. So I named him Benny."

"Ah," he realizes. He crouches down and waves. "Hello, Benny."

The boy shies away.

"Benny's a little shy," I tell him. I nudge the child. "Go on, say hello."

Benny waves.

"Can't he talk?" the Doctor asks.

"They were born without tongues, so that they wouldn't be able to speak for themselves," I explain. "They use sign language."

"You know sign language?" he asks.

"I can barely speak proper English, I can't do sign language," I say. I look over to the other Evos. "They need our help, Doctor. A lot of our help."

He stares at me for a moment before waving his hands around. "Wait, wait, wait. You can't understand sign language, so how do you know all this?"

The Evo woman walks up to him and places his hands on his head, concentrating. It only takes a few moments, which is weird because it seemed like a whole lifetime for me, but he opens his eyes and flies back.

"A new evolutionary stage of humanity," he realizes, smiling. He twirls and claps in his usual Doctor-fashion, very happy about te existence of a new species. "_That's_ what you are. Oh, you are amazing, all of you. Telepathic connection, highly intelligent and adaptive. You may even have a higher IQ than the specie you came from! Oh, and the super strength and thermal sight. What a wonder!" He pulls out his sonic and studies the woman, who slaps his hand away.

She grunts, signing. The Doctor looks down.

"Ah, I see," he says. "Probably not a big fan of being observed, are you? What was your name again?"

The Evo woman pulls up her sleeve.

"7008," he reads. He shakes his head. "Too formal. Can I call you Valerie?"

She glares at him for a moment before nodding.

"So _you_ know sign language?" I ask him.

"I know everything," he answers smugly.

"Cocky fu…" I trail off, noticing the small child I've probably already verbally scarred. "Oh, you know."

"Yes, I do. And you should really work on the swearing."

I smile. "Never."

The Doctor claps his hands together. "Okay! We need to accomplish a few things. One is finding the rest of you and grouping you up. Two is finding a way out. And three…well, three is in the works. It's either stage a mutiny or hack into the piloting systems to drop you off on a planet of your own."

"As much as I'd like to beat Matthias senseless, a mutiny isn't the best idea," I tell him. "Who knows what chaos would ensue."

"Exactly! So we need to figure out a way to transport you all-" He gestures to the group of Evos. "—to a place you can live on. Perhaps Froha in the Seventh Quarter System, that has an atmosphere similar to Earth's…or Quaila, possibly."

"There's the TARDIS," I suggest.

"Oh course there's the TARDIS, there's always the TARDIS. But we need to figure out a way to get to it."

Valerie signs impatiently to the Doctor.

"Yes, we should probably round everyone up before we fully discus these things." He directs his attention to the group. "You lot, go find the others and tell them to come back here! Avoid the traps, as usual."

They start walking off, but Benny still sticks to me. I nudge him.

"Go off, you've got a job to do," I encourage, smiling. "I'll be here, don't worry."

He looks sadly at me before joining the others.

"Jenna," the Doctor addresses. "Are you alright?"

"Why do you keep asking that question?" I ask him. "I'm fine. Sure, my first date didn't turn out to be the way I pictured it, but who cares?"

He stares at me. "What happened?"

I look away from him. "You know how you told me not to fraternize with the enemy? I…kind of threw that out the window and kissed him. A lot."

He grimaces. "Didn't need to know that."

I glare at him. "You asked what happened!"

"Yes, but that's all human stuff," he says, sounding disgusted.

"What, you afraid you're going to get cooties or something?" I ask with a laugh. "Besides, how many girls have you kissed, huh?"

"Most of the time there was reason," he defends, but continues doing a bad job of it. If it's one thing I learned while watching the Doctor is that, instead of blushing, his face goes pale. And he's white as a sheet right now.

I snort. "Yeah, sure. For some, I'll give you that. But don't say you didn't enjoy some of them because it's 'human stuff'."

He frowns. "Name one time."

I rolled my eyes and made my voice go up an octave. "'Yup, still got it.'" I smirk. "Oh, and let's not forget the whole thing at Stormcage, mister scratchy-face."

"Yeah, well…we need to get these poor people out of here," he says, changing the subject. "No time for such trivial things like kissing and romance. All I'm asking for is your honest answer: are you okay?"

"I will be when I can slap him senseless," I tell him. I shrug. "It's not like I've been heartbroken before, I'll get over it."

"When have you been heartbroken before?" he asks curiously.

"Third grade," I tell him. "I held hands with Christopher Wilkes during recess and we shared cookies. Found him the next day holding hands with stupid Ingrid Petrakis."

"Tragic," he mutters sarcastically.

"Oi, it was a hard time, third grade," I argue.

We see the Evos coming back with about ten to fifteen new additions.

"That was quick," I comment.

"Telepathic connection," he reminds me. "They have to come in contact with us to have it, they can send out a signal, an emotion. Can't directly talk, but they can transport thoughts to one another free range. Amazing."

"First new species to discover in a while, yeah?" I guess.

"Every species amazes me," he tells me. "They all have their good and their bad, and the fun is finding out what the good and the bad are made of." He greets the Evos. "Hello, all! You call yourself Evos, correct? Good. Now, my assistant-"

"Companion," I correct. I am nobody's assistant.

"_Companion_," he repeats. "Yes, we've been up there in the middle deck. Seen all the hallways, met the crew. The captain isn't that glad to have us here, and beware the good-looking fellows. You know every pipe and hallway in this endless place. If we can combine our knowledge, we'd be unstoppable!"

Benny claps at this.

"Yes, Benny, that's the spirit!" the Doctor points out. "Now, I know you all want freedom. And you deserve it. You have been studied and trained to be soldiers, killed in battle. You are the ones who were kept behind the curtain. You are the damned of the _Hesperidia_, but you know what? You're intelligent, sentient human beings, all of you."

He smiles. "And I think it's time for Hell to break loose."

**#**

**Hoped you liked this chapter. I know I did.**

**I really, REALLY need reviews, guys. They're my crack, and they give me inspiration to keep going and they tell me that my story isn't a complete piece of shit. So I'd appreciate some very much, if it's at all possible.**

**Love you all, my babies!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	12. The Damned of the Hesperidia, Part 5

**Hello!**

**I fixed that booboo in the last chapter, just so you know.**

**So um…yeah! Review, if you can. I miss your lovely words.**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

Benny sticks to me throughout the planning. Not that I mind, but having a mutant wrapped around my arm isn't the most pleasant experience. Luckily, he's light and fast, so I don't have to drag him everywhere. He just tags along.

The Doctor is having a conversation with all of the Evos, and it's very one-sided from my perspective. He's mostly talking with Valerie and an Evo man named 0483, or "Roderick", as we've started calling him. The group has led us back into a whole series of pipes that have been cleared out for living uses.

"Wow, you guys are _really_ smart," I comment to Benny. "You don't deserve to be treated like this."

"—there's an unused pipe here," the Doctor points out, looking over a basic diagram the Evos have drawn. "We could climb through that and get up to the kitchens."

Valerie signs something worriedly.

"Yes, there is the chance of them finding us, but there'll always be a chance," he tells her. "If we get up to the kitchen, we can just as easily sneak into to the cargo holds and free the rest."

Roderick signs back.

"Then we'll have to convince them. How many of you are there, anyway?"

Roderick and Valerie glance at each other, and then look to the others for consulting. They sign a number, something with three fingers up.

"Three hundred," the Doctor muses. He whistles. "That's a lot."

"Do you think we'll be able to fit all of them into the TARDIS?" I ask.

"The TARDIS has a maximum capacity equivalent to the mass of Jupiter," he tells me. "Of course it can fit all of them in there. It's just…" He puts his arms about three feet apart from each other. "Small doors and very, _very_ little time."

"Good point," I tell him.

"But we can worry about that later," he says. He turns back to the Evos. "You lot need to get out of here, and that pipe is the only feasible exit that doesn't involve us getting vaporized immediately."

Roderick signs something.

The Doctor straightens his bow tie. "They're _cool_, nobody else can tell me otherwise."

"He's really stubborn," I add. "Don't even try."

He frowns, but shakes it off. "Ignoring that. Are we all in agreement to go through the pipe?"

The Evos nod.

The Doctor smiles. "Geronimo."

**#**

Pipes are not fun.

Especially old garbage disposal pipes.

"Wet food is disgusting," I comment, trying my best not to touch any as I crawl on my hands and knees in the horrible content.

"Ah, cheer up, Quigs," the Doctor encourages. "We're leading a new species to freedom, isn't that exciting?"

"It would be if I didn't feel like throwing up right now," I tell him, suppressing my gag reflex. "How can you stand this?"

"I've been inside the digestive system of multiple creatures," he reminds me. "And I'd rather you try to hold it in until we get upstairs, you've got Delilah behind you and she isn't too keen on us already."

"I shouldn't have let you name them," I mutter.

"I gave them cool names, and I don't hear them complaining in the least."

"To be fair, you can't hear them at all."

"Well, they haven't shown me otherwise. Now concentrate, we're almost there."

We come to a curve in the pipe that shoots straight upwards and the Doctor stands up. "No ladder," he comments. He hops up and clings to the round walls of the pipe. "Very tricky." He pulls himself upwards, slowly scaling up.

"I'm regretting all that time pretending I twisted my ankle in gym class," I murmur to myself. I jump up and follow him, straining my arm and leg muscles. My stomach grumbles. When was the last time I ate, ten hours ago?

We climb for five minutes until we reach a hatch that the Doctor pushes open.

I climb out and collapse onto the ground. "Sweet, clean floors," I comment. "I'll never take you for granted again."

"Get up, Quigs, we need to keep moving," the Doctor says.

I grumble and stand up. "For the five hundredth time, don't call me Quigs."

"Sorry, can't," he says offhandedly. He starts walking through the kitchen, which is really just a bunch of tables for people to eat. "Tell the others to hurry up, before anybody notices our presence."

I do just that, helping the smaller Evos out of the hatch until we're all in the middle area of the ship. We quietly exit the room, walking down the white hallways.

"If I'm right, we're only a couple rooms away from the pods," he tells all of us.

"But will we do with all the Evos? Some of them aren't like these guys, remember?" I ask him. "Benny showed me. They do whatever they're told."

"I'm sure they'll take our orders, then. And in time they'll learn how to think for themselves." He opens various doors, looking around and closing them.

"Still, there's the fact that there's _three hundred_ of them. Not very easy to hide."

The Doctor opens up a door, and peers in. He quickly closes it shut, going down the next two doors and then slumping. "I don't think that'll be much of a problem," he whispers sadly.

He opens the door all the way to reveal a large, empty room. It's lit by black lights, but completely deserted.

"What happened to all the pods?" I ask.

He gulps. "Jenna, listen. What do you hear?" he asks.

I concentrate. "Uh…nothing."

"Exactly. The engines should be running," he explains. "We're landing. They're going to the loading docks."

"But we can still free them, right?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "It's too late. I couldn't save them."

"But you said that the cargo never made it!" I remind him. "All the way back when we landed here."

"Time can be rewritten," he tells me.

"It's a little more stubborn that you think," I fire back.

He stays silent for a moment. "I could've saved them-"

"Nobody's perfect, Doctor," I tell him. "And if we're keeping count, I've screwed up ten times more than you."

"But you don't have what I have!" he snaps. "I knew how to save them, I knew how to save them all, and now they're living out their lives as slaves."

I had forgotten what Scary Doctor was like. "You said you were 940-something, right?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" he asks bitterly.

"You've been alone for 40 years," I tell him. "And you should never, ever be alone, Doctor."

"Why?"

"Because it does…this." It's the best way of putting it.

"I lost them all."

"You've still got everybody else!" I yell at him. "All of them. Valerie, Benny…" I look around, noticing the child isn't next to me as usual. "Where's Benny?"

"He was behind you when I last saw him," he tells me.

I walk out of the room. "Benny?" I ask, looking around. "Benny!"

I see him down a way, curled into a ball. I run to him. Is he hurt? Did one of the crew get to him?

"Benny, what's wrong?" I ask.

He looks up, white eyes glassy. He beckons me to lean in closer and puts his hands on my head. My conversation with the Doctor replays from his point of view, and then images of the girl Evo, 5801, start flashing.

I scoop the child up in my arms. "Shh, shhh. Everything's going to be alright. We're going to save them all, including 5801." I look to see the Doctor staring at the event he's been witnessing. "Right, Doctor?"

He keeps a sad face, but nods.

I look back down the Benny. "Now we're going to get all of you out of here, okay? Don't cry; you don't need to cry." I stand up and look to the Doctor again.

He smiles. "Of course. No need to cry."

"Good," I say. I look over to the confused group of Evos. "Okay, guys. We've got a setback in the plan. The others…well, the others are getting ready to be shipped off to war."

The Evos look around, concerned.

"But," the Doctor interjects. "That doesn't mean there isn't the possibility of saving them all. We have time, and with time there is hope." He walks past us all and then turns to our congregation. "Now, I don't have an exact plan of what to do, but I have an idea. To solve a problem we must go to the source. And what is the source of our problems?"

"The crew," I grind out, thinking of Matthias.

"Yes, and where does the crew originate from?" he asks us all.

An Evo signs something.

"You've got it er…Nate? Yes, I'm calling you Nate. Great thinking, Nate!" He runs down the hall at full speed, and we follow him until he stops at the elevator, using the sonic on the key pad.

"What? What did Nate say?" I ask.

The doors open with a ding and the Doctor grins at me. "The heart of the crew, come on, Quigs. It's where all our problems started in the first place." He walks into the lift and we squish in. He sonics the key pad again and the doors close.

"To the observation deck!"

**#**

You know that badass part of action movies where the hero just busts through the door and demands something?

It feels as awesome as it looks.

Along the way a couple crew workers saw us and ran off, so we're expecting the element of surprise is not on our side. But we can always look cool.

The Doctor opens the door with the sonic and we pile in, greeted by the clicking of guns being set to fire.

"Ah, yes," the Doctor says. "Guns. Again."

"Doctor and Jenna," a snide female voice says. Captain Tory Whirly walks in between a pair of guards, looking displeased. "I thought I took care of you two."

"You _thought_," he repeats. "But instead, you may have helped us. These Evos are very intelligent, helped us find an escape route. Funny, how much you underestimate them."

I see the TARDIS, blue and all, hanging in the corner, not being surrounded by people anymore. An escape…

"They do as we say," Tory explains. "These ones malfunctioned. They're mistakes."

"And by 'malfunctioned'," I muse, "do you mean 'thinking for themselves'?"

"They came from us, we made them," she says with an edge. "They must obey us."

"You lot came from apes, I don't see you being ruled by monkeys," the Doctor points out. "Yet."

"The point is, we programmed them for the purpose of being soldiers," Captain Whirly says impatiently. "They have no other reason to live."

"How about to cure diseases or make civilizations?" the Doctor suggests. "I saw humanity at its beginnings and these—these _amazing_ people are a good five thousand years ahead where you were."

"They are necessary to end the war against the Nabut System," she seethes.

"Wars always end," I remind her.

"Well we don't want to be part of the losing side!" she yells. She turns to the other crew workers. "Do we?"

They all shake their heads, keeping emotionless faces. I spot Matthias in the background and force back a growl.

Tory smiles. "Exactly. And these things will reassure our victory."

"So you're squashing your morals just to be on the winning side?" I review. I snort. "Jesus, you're a sore loser."

"The human race must prevail," she grinds out.

"But you're losing your humanity doing that!" I argue. "You're about to send of humans, even children, to fight your wars." I pause. "And that can't happen."

"Oh? And who's going to stop us?" she asks.

"We are," I answer.

Tory laughs. "Please. You? I could barely get my parents to listen to me at your age, what makes you think you can stop us?" She turns to the Doctor. "And you're too much of a coward to stop this, aren't you Doctor?"

He sets his jaw, not speaking.

Benny steps forward.

"And you, child, are just another one of them," Tory states. "You may be strong, but one of you isn't enough."

The others take a step forward as well.

For a moment, Tory's eyes widen in shock. I guess she hadn't realized how many of them there were. But it's gone just as quick as it came, with a smug smirk and a dark look in her eyes.

"Cute," she comments. She holds up her wrist. "But I've still got the advantage."

"How?" the Doctor asks.

She directs our attention to her arm. "See this communicator? It's special, me being the captain and all. Controls all the functions for the ship. Now, we're just above our destination, but we're still in space. I press a button and the loading deck opens and sucks all of the pods out to choke."

"You're bluffing," I say.

"Am I?"

"You need them for the war, you wouldn't just kill them like that," the Doctor points out, frozen on the spot.

"Twenty-five is better than none, you know that," the captain muses.

"You still think you're going to win," I say, almost laughing.

"Because I always do, child," Tory replies. "I always win."

I shake my head. "You're insane, you know that?"

"Insane…manipulative…brilliant…I've heard it all before, don't think I haven't."

"But you're risking people's lives for this!" the Doctor yells.

"They aren't people, they're experiments made in a lab," she drawls. "They're cargo."

"They have minds, emotions," I grind out. "That's not the definition of cargo."

"And you're the not the definition of a saint, are you dear?" Tory fires back. "Matthias told me about his mission. You aren't one for willpower, are you?"

Okay, that's it. To quote Ghostbusters, this bitch is _toast_.

I start running towards her, but the Doctor holds me back. The captain just smiles, holding a finger close to her wrist.

"Ah, ah, ah," she says. "One more step, and you say goodbye to 275 life forms. Or you stay put, surrender, and wait for your trial when we arrive. Your choice."

I freeze on the spot, and the Doctors arms loosen. I shrug them off.

One step is all it takes. I could stay here, and they could trap us. Most likely kill us, or keep us captive. Everyone would be shipped off to war. We'd get put into jail, away from the TARDIS. The Evos would never forgive me. She'd win.

"Jenna, stay calm," the Doctor says in a low voice. "She's testing you, but she's not bluffing, you know it."

"And?" I ask.

"And I know you won't be able to handle any blood on your hands," he says. "You're too young to."

"Again with the 'being too young'," I complain.

"Jenna, I need you to make the wise decision," he tells me.

But if I do take that step, 275 Evos will die unwillingly. Not even knowing it was me. We wouldn't have anything that would hold us back. We could escape; still bring hope to these people. They'd hate me for sending their brothers and sisters to their death. But she'd lose.

And it's time she got slapped in the face with a healthy dose of reality.

"I_ have_ made the wise decision," I tell him. I look back to the Evos. "And I'm sorry."

I look down at my feet. Ratty Converse, my favorites. I got them a couple years ago on sale. They have a multitude of holes and the "All Star" on the heel rubbed off a long time ago. I can see my socks poking through.

I never imagined that these shoes would determine life or death.

I take in a breath.

"Jenna, you-"

_Tap, tap_. My feet meet each other a foot away from where they were previously.

Tory presses the button. And all hell breaks loose.

The crew scurries around, trying to direct the ship and pick up the lost cargo. But it's too late, we can already see them. The pods are floating in front of us. They tumble around silently, and we all watch in horror. Some have already opened up, and I can see a hand reaching out, floating lifelessly. It's a graveyard in midair.

It's me.

I did this. They're all dead, because of me.

"No, Jenna," the Doctor whispers.

"Looks like the little one made a booboo, didn't she?" Tory muses. She shrugs. "Eh, we've still got you lot. When we get to the base we can probably just take you apart and make new ones. Better ones, at that."

I hear a growling sound next to me. Benny steps forward, and so do Valerie, and Nate, and Delilah, and all the others. It becomes a low, rumbling chorus.

"Oh, Tory Whirly," the Doctor says, looking down. "This is as good as it gets."

And with that, they attack.

They go for the armed ones first, and they're quick. I don't hear a single gunshot, but then again I don't hear anything at the moment. I can only hear ringing, a high pitched kind like the ones emitted from old TVs. I just watch them knock the guys to the ground until I feel someone shake me. Have they been shaking me for a while now?

I look over my shoulder, and the Doctor is mouthing something to me. I can't read mouths very well, but he's pointing to the unguarded TARDIS and I'm able to comprehend what it means.

"Run."

I'm able to understand as much.

We bolt for the TARDIS and I look over to the Evos. "Come on!" I call out, even though I can't hear myself. The Evos look up and run along inside.

Benny gets in last, and he looks at me sadly before moving past into the console. With that the ringing stops.

We need to get out of here.

After one last thing, of course.

I look back over to the Doctor, who's already moving to the console. "Wait a minute!" I tell him.

I waltz out of the TARDIS and walk around the swarm of people until I find the person I'm looking for.

"Hey!" I call out.

Matthias Hark turns around and looks at me, wide-eyed.

"Oh, hello, Jenna, I-"

I shut him up by kissing him.

I pull away, and he looks at me, dazed. "Well, how about-"

_SLAP!_

"And that, Matthias," I tell him, "is how we made a dramatic exit back on Earth."

I walk away from him, but not before looking to Tory.

"Looks like you lost," I comment, stepping into the TARDIS doors.

She smiles at me. "No, child. I always win."

Crazy bitch. I close the doors and sigh as I hear the familiar sound of dematerialization. The Doctor is going around the console as the Evos look around.

Nate signs something.

"Yes, it is bigger on the inside, isn't it?" the Doctor muses with a smile. "Now, setting course for a planet with an Earth-like atmosphere, not too many predators…aha! Yes, perfect. The planet of-" He pauses, and drops to the ground.

"Doctor!" I yell, running up the stairs and up to him.

"Should've remembered…" he mutters.

"What?" I ask.

"Nanobots," he answers simply. "Get the blue syringe."

_I always win._

"What?" I repeat.

"The syringe! The blue syringe! I'm losing the feeling in my arms," he orders. "The striped drawer. Come on, before it starts on you, too!"

Oh yeah, I was injected with the little buggers, too, wasn't I? I get up and go for the drawers.

"There are a lot of striped drawers, Doctor!" I comment. My toes feel tingly, and then my feet.

"Third one down!" he says. "Blue syr…blur siwinj. I can't feel mer tang—my tongue!"

I open the drawer, dragging my hand through the contents and trying to search for a blue syringe. My legs get tingly, and I fall to the floor, keeping myself up with my arms. I see a glint of cerulean and grab for it, pulling out a small blue syringe.

"Got it!" I announce. I drag myself over to the Doctor and try to keep a grip on the needle, but my hand's getting tingly and it's hard to hold onto.

"Inject it into my arm," he tells me. I try to bring it down, but my arm goes slack. "Jenna, now!"

"I'm trying, moron!" I yell at him. I grab the syringe with my less-numb hand and hold it above his arm, bringing it down.

It's silent, for a moment. He doesn't move, and I just wait.

The Doctor's foot twitches and he sits up in a flash. "Crickey, that was close! Almost slipped away for a second." He turns to me. "Jenna? Jenna, are you alright?"

And with that I black out.

_I gasp and sit straight up in a dark room. I can't see anything, but I hear it. The clicking noises, they surround me._

"_Change the timeline," they order. "Destroy the Doctor."_

"_No," I tell them. "No, I won't do it."_

"_You will. You will always destroy the Doctor."_

"_Not if I can help it," I fire back._

"_No matter what you do, you will follow the guided task," they tell me. "Change the timeline. Destroy the Doctor."_

_They show their ugly faces, all open-mouthed with electricity surging around them. They points their hands towards me, the lightening bouncing towards my face._

"_No," I say. "No, I won't do it. No!"_

"No!" I yell, bolting up. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I'm breathing heavily. I look around. I'm on the TARDIS, with a bunch of blank eyes staring at me. My arm hurts. I sigh. "Oh, thank god."

"It's okay, the nanobots are being eradicated from your system," the Doctor reassures.

"What was that stuff?" I ask.

"Just an acid, should disintegrate all of them," he explains. He hands me a vial of clear liquid. "Now drink this."

I raise an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because once the acid reaches your heart it will start to burn your body from the inside out," he explains.

I grab the vial and chug it.

A warm hand touches my shoulder. I look over to see Benny looking at me with concern.

"I'm okay," I tell him. He relaxes. "I'm perfectly fine."

"That's the biggest lie in the universe," the Doctor observes. He's standing now, going back to the controls. "Screaming 'no' when you wake up is not fine."

"I had a nightmare, so what?" I tell him. "Everybody has nightmares."

"What was the nightmare about?"

_Change the timeline. Destroy the Doctor._ The Silence. The dark room.

"I can't remember," I lie. "But I'm awake now, right? And we have a whole culture to start."

"Yes we do! Now, back where I was before. The planet of Dialgo should do, right around the year 4008. Mass extinction just a century previous, perfect for the start of new life." He pulls down that big switch that looks like a fat rolling pin. "I'd suggest you hold onto something."

The TARDIS begins to shake and I grip onto the rail, holding Benny tight to me as the other Evos do the same. I bounce a couple feet in the air for a minute until the shaking quickly decreases.

"We're here!" the Doctor announces. "Oh, you'll love it. Oceans are colored _yellow_. Nothing to fear though, it was naturally colored that way." He walks down the stairs and goes to open the door. "They have beautiful birds, ones that have feathers softer than silk and taste like apple pie, if you cook them correctly. Otherwise they taste like rubbish."

I help Benny up and look to him. "You ready?" I ask him.

He looks away from me.

I sigh. "I'm sorry, but I had to do what I did. She'd have captured you, and you all would've died anyways in war." I smile. "But you've got freedom, a whole planet for yourselves. Isn't that great?"

The Doctor opens the door and immediately the smell of salt water hits us. The Evos pile out, and I walk down to see the place. We've plopped down right on the beach, and I can see what the Doctor means by yellow-colored. The water looks like lemonade.

Benny stays up at the console, hiding behind the rails.

"Oh come on!" I beckon. "Get out there; it's your new home!" I look out to see a girl Evo Benny's age looking at the TARDIS expectantly. I recognize her from the crowd. I turn back to the child and smile. "Someone's waiting for you."

He does his squinty-eyed-so-I-know-he's-smiling smile and run down and out of the spaceship, kicking up sand.

"We should go," the Doctor suggests. "They can build their civilization on their own."

"Hey, I wanted to go to a planet, remember?" I remind him. "Just give me a minute." I step out of the TARDIS and dig my feet into the ground. "My first planet. Awesome."

"I've heard 'amazing' and 'wonderful'," the Doctor says. "But never 'awesome'."

"I'm not the traditional companion," I shrug. I inhale the salty air. "Okay, we can go."

"That quick?" he asks.

"There's more than one planet in the universe," I snort. "Besides, I'm starving. I haven't eaten in a day." I walk into the TARDIS, sitting on the chair again. "Can we go to a restaurant or something? I want Chinese food."

He looks at me for a moment before running back up to the console. "Of course. I believe China during the Han dynasty would work perfectly?"

"As long as they have dumplings, I'm okay," I tell him, closing my eyes.

He pushes a couple buttons silently before directing his attention to me again. "Jenna, how are you feeling?"

I open my eyes and glare at him, annoyed. "It seems like that question and calling me 'Quigs' are the popular topics of today."

"You didn't answer the question," he points out.

"I'm…moving along," I confess. "Not fine anymore, not really. I mean, people _died_ because of me. But it was the right thing. Otherwise Captain Whirly would've won and they've have all died anyways, right? At least they're all still alive and breathing."

He gives me a sad smile. "Right. And they have a bright future ahead of them."

I feel my throat grow thick. "Yeah," I choke out. "Bright future…hopefully."

He pauses. "Would you like to see them?"

"See who?" I ask.

"We're in a time machine, we can see them a thousand years ahead," he reminds me. "Do you want to see what you've given them?"

"I'm pretty sure I gave them diddly squat, other than grief and an escape plan," I mutter.

He types something into the typewriter and it dings. "Go look outside," he orders.

I look up at him before walking down the stairs and opening the doors. I hear the whir of vehicles and see ourselves in the middle of a city, clean and all utopian-like. Evos walk around us, and billboards flash. It's like an alien version of New York City.

"You did this," the Doctor points out. "You helped them become this."

I smile and feel my cheek get wet. Well, there goes my reputation for not crying in public. I close the doors, sighing.

"So, Jenna," the Doctor says, "how are you feeling?"

I turn around and smile at him. "I'm perfect," I tell him. "I feel…amazing."

"That's the spirit!" he cheers. "So…Chinese?"

I clutch my stomach. "Please and thank you."

**#**

**Hello lovelies! So this section is done. Whew, that took a while, didn't it? 5 parts! That's never happened before for me, to my knowledge.**

**Pretty please review, and tell me what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong.**

**See you soon!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	13. Interlude

**Ah, yes. The smell of a new chapter. Isn't it glorious?**

**Seen some new stills for the Christmas special/next half of the season. Pretty cool, won't spoil you. But I'm just going to say that if the Doctor had to have any other vehicle to travel by, I would not expect THAT. Also, Jenna Louise-Coleman is gorgeous as always.**

**I'm rambling, so let's get on with it, shall we?**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

I'd tell you every planet or alien species I've seen while travelling with the Doctor, but then these voice logs would take months to finish, and I'm pretty sure I don't have that long. I've already spent the last three days regaling you with my origin story and first adventure, and we've got a lot to cover. _You_, if you're listening to this—you're off somewhere, thinking I'm asleep. Probably saving another royal family or whatever. But where was I? Oh yes, my shenanigans with the Doctor.

I'll tell you that eating actual Chinese food, like actually in China and all, was fun. Sure, we found out that the Emperor was actually a clone trying to demolish the Forbidden City and that the terracotta warriors were actually dormant Cybermen, but it was easily taken care of.

And then there was just the sightseeing. Going to a whole planet dedicated to Hawaii was amazing, and seeing the floating waterfalls of the fifth moon of Exio 7 was eye-opening. Being a companion has a hell of a lot of perks.

The TARDIS interface hasn't bugged me for a while, but the TARDIS itself has been messing with me. I don't exactly have a room because she keeps moving my stuff, so I have to either search around or get the Doctor, so I sleep wherever my stuff shows up.

I lay down on my stomach on the console room floor, opening up my laptop and typing in my password.

The Doctor is piloting the TARDIS silently, but knocks into me midway through.

"Do you have to be there?" he asks.

I look up at him a smile. "Yup."

"It was a rhetorical question," he tells me.

"I know," I inform him.

He looks at me. "If I do not pilot this correctly, I could possibly blow up an entire planet."

"I'm comfortable," I defend. "Besides, why not just let her traipse around a little bit?"

"The TARDIS doesn't simply traipse, she wanders!" he proclaims. "And a wanderer needs a guide. I am that guide."

"Okay then, Mr. Guide-Person," I say. I get up. "Fair enough."

He grins and leans over the controls in anticipation. "Now, where do you want to go? Milan, fashion capital of the world? You half of the human species like fashion, don't you?"

"Do I look like a designer's dream sketch?" I ask him rhetorically, gesturing to my skinny jeans, ratty converse haven't given them up yet), and tourist sweatshirt from Space Hollywood. "I think not."

"Okay, that's a no, then?" he guesses. "Uh…oh, haven't seen Georgie for a while!"

"Georgie?" I repeat, slightly confused.

"George Washington," the Doctor adds on. "Though, it has been a little awkward between the two of us since he tried to play footsie with me during the signing of the Declaration of Independence."

"Made Thomas Jefferson jealous, did he?" I ask jokingly.

"Naw, he forgave him later," he says dismissively.

Well, that's something you don't see in the history textbooks.

"Why don't we just stay in the TARDIS?" I ask him. "I mean, we've been doing adventure after adventure—and don't get me wrong, I love it. But I need a nice little Sunday is the middle of all these Saturday nights, you know?"

"But Sundays are rubbish," he argues. "Boring. Unnecessary."

"I need a little boring right now. Besides, it can't be completely dull. You've got a goddamn aquarium you can actually scuba dive in."

"But there are planets! And people, wonderful people!"

"I think I'll just stick to the web and maybe blasting some of music for a couple hours," I say. "You can go off and tweak whatever wire or part of the dashboard you want, but I just want to lay low for a quick moment."

"Well what if I want to go do adventures?" he asks.

I wave my hand at him. "Then go do adventures. I'll hang back here."

"But the TARDIS is expansive, and leaving you alone-"

"I'm not eight, I know how to take care of myself. Besides, you went off to go do all your Doctor-y stuff when you didn't know I was here and I did perfect."

"Except you didn't have enemies then," he points out.

"Oh, like I do now?" I ask.

"Her Majesty Queen Isabelle the 28th wasn't too keen of you," he reminds me.

"I didn't know she had a motherfucking laser gun!" I defend. "And besides, King Ferdinand the 75th _pushed_ me, it isn't my fault!"

"We are still banned from the Holy Asteroid of Spain, however."

"Not the point," I seethe. "We're far away from there, and it's not like the Silence are going to sneak aboard and strap me down again."

He shakes his head. "Nope. Nope! I am _not_ leaving you alone unprotected, look where you ended up back at the _Hesperidia_."

I sit down. "Well I'm not moving," I tell him.

He glares at me. "You are so stubborn!" he announces.

"And you are loud," I say, looking back to the screen. "Now, I haven't been able to visit any of my favorite websites ever since you found me out, so will you let me read?"

"What websites?" he asks.

I shrug. "Oh, you know. Facebook, fanfiction, Tumblr…all that jazz."

"Certainly not…Twitter?" He spits out the word like a rotten piece of food.

I laugh. "Not really, no. But I haven't been on in a while, and I have some catching up to do." I type in a URL and sigh. "Oh, it's good to be back."

"You seem very…at piece," he observes. "But you're doing nothing."

"To be fair, I really only did nothing before you showed up," I say. "Monotonous days of domesticity, school, and sitting on my ass watching TV and reading posts."

He shivers. "Sounds horrifying."

I scroll down a little ways and frown. "Hey, Doc?"

"What?" he asks. "And don't call me Doc, nobody calls me Doc."

"Captain Jack called you Doc," I point out.

"Captain Jack was an impossible man," the Doctor counters.

"And I'm not an impossible girl? After all, I shouldn't be existing here _and_ you called me stubborn just a moment ago."

"Why call me that horrid word?"

"I could ask the same thing to you about Quigs," I say. "But anyways, I've got a question."

"I most likely have an answer."

I smirk. "Cheeky. But here, look. My dash is still filled with stuff from your show," I tell him, flipping my screen.

He looks at it and frowns. "All I see are a repeated variation of the words 'my feelings'," he tells me. "That and 'damn you Steven Moffat'."

"Yup, that's you're show," I say.

"But they all sound so upset!" he yells out, pointing to the screen.

"To be fair, you're life can be pretty tragic."

"Enough to make all of those people 'weep endlessly and feel empty inside'?"

"They're very hyperbolic, all of Tumblr is," I tell him. "But the point is, this shouldn't be here. Why is it here?"

The TARDIS hums a little, and I can feel a sort of "I can say the same to you" phrase bouncing around and I frown.

"Not helping," I mutter.

The Doctor, who has been pacing a little, pauses to look at me. "What was that?"

I shake my head. "Nothing important. So why do I still have an Internet connection from…oh, what could we call it? Jenna's World? Sounds a little conceited…maybe 'TV Land'. Oh no, that's already a television channel…" I sigh. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Only possibly slightly," the Doctor admits.

"I've been around you too long, you're rubbing off on me," I say.

"I'd say 'becoming cooler', but to each his own," he suggests. "Anyways, your Internet connection. Very curious. Maybe…oh, yes, that's possibly it. Very possibly it."

I stare at him, expecting him to explain.

"You see, when the TARDIS lands, in the first nanosecond it scans the area within a thousand-mile radius," he explains. "Then, using that information, it chooses the best form to take to fit aid area. Of course, that's been malfunctioning for quite some time, been meaning to-"

"Fix it, yeah," I complete. "I know about the Chameleon Circuit, and I know you like it as a police box."

He straightens his bow tie. "Police boxes are cool."

"Off topic," I scold. "So what does the Chameleon Circuit have to do with this?"

"Well, as to not have any mishaps with things that may or may not be socially acceptable and possibly burnt to a crisp, the TARDIS also analyzes and takes in all information regarding said area but forward and backward in time," he explains quickly with that stupidly smug smile on his face. "Including the world wide web. She absorbs, takes it into the circuit, and spits out the best chosen form that will be both appropriate and less likely to become a bomb."

"…and then she turns into a police box," I finish.

"It is a very _nice_ police box, thank you very much," he says.

"Oh, she's looks great, I know," I say honestly. "Just saying…if you wanted to fix it you could've done it a while ago with all the time you take tweaking the wires."

"I will take that into future consideration," he says offhandedly. "Usually, in times before 1990 A.D. the TARDIS will look through personal records and such, but the Internet is a very useful _and_ convenient, so she easily hacks into the nearest bit of wi-fi and draws out all the information needed, future and past. You're computer was most adapted to it and latched onto it out of the millions of networks she's already got in her hard drive, most likely. Add that with the fact that things from the same universe will most likely latch onto each other when out of their comfort zone and presto! Internet."

"So I've got an updated version of my Internet for the next couple of years?" I review.

"Basically, yes," he says. "It's nice when someone finally understands it all."

"Eh, I really got the gist of it," I admit. I grin. "Sweet. And it's been, what, three weeks since I came here? Which means I've got the Power of Three and the fall season finale at my disposal."

The Doctor shifts a few knobs. "You sound excited."

"I've been waiting for this for ages!" I tell him. "The fall finale is supposed to be HUGE, and really good judging by the posts."

"But weren't all about feelings and sadness?" he asks.

"Means that it was one hell of an episode."

"Looking forward to it," he grumbles.

I look up at him. "Doesn't mean that it's all bad," I reassure him. Though, the fact that the Ponds are supposedly leaving probably isn't all sunshine and rainbows. "It's the fall season finale, no more episodes until the Christmas special. People are going to feel sad."

He smirks. "Didn't know people like me so much," he says.

"Don't make your head any bigger, mister," I chastise. "You receive a well amount of hate as well. Then again, everybody does."

He pauses. "So are you going to watch these…things?" he asks.

"As soon as I can, yeah," I tell him. I look up from my computer. "I'll sneak off into a room for two hours and watch them both. No spoilers."

"But why watch them when you can live it?" he asks in a whine. "Shan Shen, the Five Pillars of Gammosh—you can just do that, not pine to a computer screen."

"I've been anticipating these episodes for _weeks_," I emphasize. "Big things are supposed to happen. _Very _big things. Can't miss that."

"What big things?" he asks.

"Well, they're going to-" I stop myself and glare at him. "Moron, you almost made me slip! Aren't you the one so against knowing your own future?"

He shrugs. "Curiosity is an annoying feeling," he confesses. "All questioning and biting at your side."

I roll my eyes and shut the laptop. "I'm going to someplace quiet…maybe the Zero Room or something. I'll be back in two hours."

"Have fun," he says, looking over the console.

"And don't do anything memorable without me!" I order him as I look around the hall.

"Can't make any promises!" he warns. I smile and continue onward.

I look at the doors. Band room, aviary, room of multicolored bouncy balls…no, no, and maybe later. Fossil cleaning room, bathroom…where was a good room to sit back and watch a goddamn television show?

I turn a corner and almost jump at the figure in front of me. She's African American, with her hair in a spiky ponytail. She wears jeans and a red leather jacket, with both arms on her sides and an emotionless expression on her face.

"You are still here," Martha says monotonously.

I put a hand on my chest. "Whew, you almost scared the bejeezus out of me," I tell the TARDIS interface. "Thought you were the real Martha for a second. Good job, though it's a little early for Halloween."

"You should not be here," the interface reminds me.

"Listen, the Doctor knows about me being here," I inform her. "Thanks to your help, might I add. And he's fine with me being here."

"You should not be here," she repeats. "Time and space can barely hold you. You need to leave."

"Well I can't just go back home, now can I?" I ask. I huff. "It's not like I'm doing anything harmful-" I stop myself, thinking back to the Evos. "Well, I haven't done anything _intentionally_ harmful." I shake my head. "Why don't you just kick me out or something if you hate me so much? I could land anywhere on Earth and get a job…possibly—hiring fifteen year-olds isn't very common."

"You are a threat, one I cannot see," she tells me. "No one can see you in the will be, only in the was. And even that is disappearing."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

"Time and space has been trying to hold you," she repeats. "But it can only do so much."

"Well that's the Doctor's business, isn't it?" I inquire. "I mean, I've got nothing on timey-whimey stuff. I'm not destined to be the Bad Wolf or the Doctor Donna. I'm…Jenna."

"You are the unexpected," she counters.

The name throws me off, and I get flashes of the Silence. "No, I'm not."

"The unexpected is harmful, and I will not let anything harm my Thief," the interface says emotionlessly.

"Then leave me somewhere," I suggest. "I'd prefer Earth, maybe London or New York."

"I can't."

I walk up to her. "And why is that?"

"My Thief cannot be alone," she says. "And neither should my Stowaway."

"So I'm your stowaway? That's nice," I comment. I sigh. "So I should leave, but I can't?"

"Yes."

"That makes no sense," I say. "Why can't I?"

The image of Martha flickers away.

"Vagueness isn't an attribute most men find attractive!" I snap. I sigh and put my hand on my forehead. "Listen, I just want to watch these two episodes. Nothing more. You already know what's going to happen, right? Just get me to a place the Doctor won't find me so I can _have some peace_."

I walk a little farther until I see the hallway shift before my eyes, doors sliding past each other until one lands right next to me.

"Anti-gravity room," I read aloud. I smile. "Thanks. I uh…I take back what I said about the unattractiveness of being vague. It's a real man-magnet, a sure-fire-"

The engines hum irritably under my feet.

I raise my hand in surrender. "Alright, alright. Got the message. But thanks…again."

I enter into the room and immediately feel all my weight be taken away. It's disorienting and slightly sickening at first, but you've got to realize that I was hoisted up by my foot and hung upside down the minute I got in there. For future reference, never walk into the anti-gravity room. Just jump in, it's like a waterless swimming pool.

I wave my hands in the air, trying to even myself out. I glide up so that, if you had no idea how ridiculous this actually is, you would assume I was laying on my stomach with the floor photo shopped out. I hesitantly set the laptop in front of me, making sure it doesn't drop to the ground or fly up towards the ceiling not to far above me. I open the computer.

I sigh. "Alright," I say, evaluating myself as I always do. I should really stop talking to myself, shouldn't I? But it's fun. And I promised myself I would get everything covered in this voice log. "Two episodes of Doctor Who, no big deal. You've been living the whole show for a while, you can do this. No crying, no laughing, _no emotion._"

I'm a horrible promise-maker.

I shouldn't go into details, because you either already know what's happened (or going to happen…possibly. It's a tiny bit complicated when you actually think about it) or you're _you _and _you_ haven't had it happen yet. Needless to say, though, I wasn't the best state mental-wise.

"…_and this is how it ends_," the voice narrates, and the little girl looks up. The picture goes to sepia. I officially hate sepia. Sepia is the color of pain.

I shut the laptop. Can't post anything, I'm supposed to be missing. All my friends would freak out.

"Okay, the Doctor is expecting me to come out now," I whisper to myself. I check my phone—it's still cracked and I haven't replaced it yet. "I've been here for two hours, I should leave, right?"

It takes me a second to realize I've started talking to the TARDIS unintentionally, because I hear a pleasant hum saying, "Yes."

I exit the room and make my way down the hall.

"Do not cry," I tell myself. "Do not show emotion. Act like everything is fine. Do not ask to go to New York; do not ask to buy the Melody Malone book. Act…normal. Normal is good, right? Yeah, normal. Not a nutty little emotional wreck. Just normally normal things."

This is where I have come to conclude that the rambling was starting to wear off on me.

I keep muttering this to myself before seeing the light of the console room. I clear my throat silently and put on a good enough poker-face to fool the crowd of a high school play. I peer take slow steps and prepare something witty to say so that he doesn't realize I kind of feel guilty, knowing what will happen to his best friends.

"So, captain," I begin. "Where shall we-"

He's leaning over the TARDIS console, face blank. He's got a white-knuckled grip on the rail and his head down. He looks like someone's shoving a knife into his back, and he's going to retaliate at any minute. He looks pitiful, but very, very dangerous. I've seen this look before, and it's never ended well. He lets out a struggled sigh, and I realize something.

I made the grave mistake of leaving the Doctor to think.

"—set sail today," I finish in a whisper. It comes out as a sentence in the last second, because my whole thinking process just slows down. I place my laptop on the ground silently as he still hasn't noticed me.

I'm not usually the person you go to for comfort. I'm simply incapable of a) giving good advice and b) being a warm, comforting person altogether. It gets very awkward for me. Should I hug them? Pat their shoulder? Say that everything's going to be alright? I just don't know. The human way of giving out comfort has always been a perplexing one, and I'm human.

So I surprise myself when I bolt down the stairs and run myself into the Doctor, wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug.

"_Oof_!" he grunts, obviously taken my surprise. He elbows are level with his shoulders, and his hands are away from me, caught off-guard. "Um…hello, Quigs."

"Hi," I say, the sound diluted by his jacket. "And don't call me that stupid nickname."

"Uh…why are you hugging me?" he asks cautiously.

"No reason," I lie, voice still muffled.

"There's a reason for everything," he points out.

"Don't be a smartass, I'm close to your vital organs," I warn halfheartedly.

"Still, you're obviously upset," the Doctor says.

"Nice of you to point that out."

"Was it something on the computer?" he asks.

I hesitate. "Possibly. But you don't have to worry about it for a long, long time." Best he not go all Oncoming Storm right now. I look up. "It was nothing, okay?"

"It was something," he argues.

I scoff. "Stop acting like my dad." I pause. "Just…Doctor…"

"Yes?" he asks.

I bury my face in his shirt like a toddler…okay; maybe he does have to right to act like my dad.

"You're never really alone," I tell him. "Somewhere, out there, someone's thinking about you. Somewhere in space and time, even if nobody's here, you're off having adventures with someone. And that'll never change."

He finally lets his arms free of their awkward position and rest them on my back.

"Thank you," he whispers. "It's very nice to know that."

I smirk and pull away. "Don't expect me to be like that all the time," I inform him. "I'm just particularly sentimental today."

He raises his hands in defense. "Wouldn't plan on it. It would be quite…out of character."

I laugh. "Yeah, it would, wouldn't it?" I lean against the rails and feel a small surge of electricity and shudder it out. "Damn it. Still pissed at me."

"You've never told me why the TARDIS doesn't particularly like you," he reminds me.

"Thought she'd already told you," I say, shrugging.

"To be fair, the TARDIS can't talk," he defends, circling half of the console. "Well, she could one time. Didn't end too well."

"I know," I sigh. "And yeah, she can't talk. But she does have a messenger, right?"

He frowns. "No, of course not."

"But the inter-" I pause. This wasn't something to share with the Doctor, if the TARDIS hadn't said anything. Just like not talking to him about the Silence or the future. He doesn't need to know. "Maybe I was just imagining things."

He stares at me, frowning.

I look at him with the guilt I try to hide away but fail to. "It's true! I haven't been sleeping that much, thanks to you and your spontaneous need to go wherever danger treads."

He looks at me in concentration for a moment more before turning his attention to the console. "Got any preferences? I'm in the mood for something uplifting. Possibly Vexiron 3.2 during the 59th century? There was a party that lasted ten years."

"Vexiron _3.2_?" I repeat.

"Chunk of the planet got blown off," he explains off-handedly. "Connected the wrong cables, it was a desert anyways."

"Decade-long party?" I reiterate.

He grins. "They have sponge cakes the size of _mattresses_," he says.

I gesture to him. "Well lead the way, Captain Doctor-Man."

He quirks an eyebrow.

I scowl. "Oh, shut it."

He twists a few knobs, and we're off.

**#**

**Sorry it's been so long, and I gave you such a crappy chapter. But this is like does "In the TARDIS" short series that they had in the fifth season, kind of. **

**I have plans for this story. I have certain plot lines I want to do, but they must be done later. I'm setting this up like a whole extra season. And yes, Jenna gets one season. Sorry, but that's how it must be done. I've really channeled my inner sadist with how this story will go.**

**I even know how Jenna's going to leave, because I've got to keep the canon storyline in order.**

**This is all just mindless rambling, I'm sorry.**

**Even then, I want YOU GUYS to give me suggestions as to what I should do for the next adventure. Should I do a bit of Wholock? Would you guys be into that? Should I feature UNIT, or River Song, or someone from the Doctor's past?**

**I would LOVE to know.**

**Okay, this has been a hell of a long author's note. I'm going. Until next time, please review.**

**-JustStandingHere**


	14. The Demons of Heaven, Part 1

**Hello lovelies! To please all who requested, this episode shall be Wholock with a mention of Sarah Jane, most definitely.**

**For those who haven't seen Sherlock, it's practically a modern adaptation of the Sherlock Holmes book series by Arthur Conan Doyle. It is also written by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, aka Satan and Beelzebub. Seriously, I recommend you watch it if you're into masochism and punching your emotions in the gut and all that.**

**But I'm just babbling incoherently. Enjoy!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

Adrenaline is a funny thing. It's the worst and best possibly feeling all at once, if that's the best way to describe it. Your heart is pounding, muscles tensed, alert and ready. You've never been more alive. But you've got that feeling where your intestines have dropped out of your stomach and the only reason you're so alive is because you're body doesn't want you to die.

Back home I didn't get adrenaline junkies. All the danger, for what? Feeling like you're going to piss your pants? No thanks.

But now I understand. It's amazing. No wonder the Doctor has been practically living off of it.

We crash through the TARDIS doors, laughing in pure insanity. We shouldn't be laughing; we're trying to narrowly escape an exploding space ship next to a black hole. But the console room echoes in giggles as I slam the twin doors hard.

"All aboard the TARDIS!" the Doctor yells, grinning as he pilots us out of the near catastrophe. "Next stop; anywhere and everywhere."

"You're being dramatic again," I remind him, opening the doors to find ourselves in an empty lot of space, wandering aimlessly.

"Dramatic makes a point," he argues, still smiling. "Oh, did you see their faces?"

"When we showed them the green button?" I ask in clarification.

He claps. "Priceless!"

"Too bad they got pissed when they realized it was a joke," I sigh, shutting the doors again and finding a place on the railing. "Honestly, I understand yelling, but blowing up an entire battle fleet?"

"The Zirusians have always been drama queens," he reassures me. "Told one of them they had a ketchup stain on their trousers and they set fire to a warehouse."

I rock back and forth on the rail, panting and trying to calm myself down. "So where to next?" I ask.

He looks up at me. "That quick? What, don't you humans need to take a trip to the loo or something?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Uh, no. Not really. I'm just sort of on this adrenaline high and I want to keep it going. So…where to?"

"I won't bend to your every whim," he says.

I smirk. "Then why do you have the face on?"

He frowns. "The face?" He pulls the blank television screen to his profile. "What face? This is just my normal face."

"No," I counter. "It's your 'oh-I-have-a-thousand-ideas-of-where-to-go-next' face."

He turns to me. "I do not have a thousand ideas of where to go next!"

"Three-hundred?"

"Five-hundred, actually." He paces around the console. "Four-hundred and ninety-nine too many."

"Maybe we could go visit some old friends," I suggest. "You haven't done that in a while. Jamie, Ace, Martha, Mickey, Brigadier." I pause. "Actually, no on Brigadier. That comes later." Kind of.

"I promised myself I wouldn't go see anyone from my past regeneration," he tells me.

I frown. "Why not?"

I smiles. "My goodbye to them was meant to be my _final_ goodbye. Can't go and break any promises, especially to myself."

"Well, what about the ones before?" I ask. I grin as an idea hits. "Oh, can we see Sarah Jane? I love Sarah Jane!"

He considers this. "Well, I haven't seen her since my last regeneration. Meant to say a final goodbye."

"Oh, _come on_," I groan. "She's goddamn Sarah Jane. She'll always show up in your life."

He pauses, thinking it over.

"You really want to see the robotic dog, don't you?"

"_YES_!"

He scowls. "Everyone loves the dog."

"K-9's a sweetheart," I tell him, hopping off of the rails. "You can't not love him."

"That is a double negative," the Doctor points out.

"I'm not going to English class anymore, so what does that matter?"

He shakes his head. "_One_ trip. No getting too familiar and becoming…oh, what do you women call it? _Besties_ with Sarah Jane." He scowls. "_Besties_. Ugh, horrible word."

"You can't tell me what to do," I say. "I can become buddies with Sarah Jane all I like."

"It usually doesn't end well when my past comes to my present," he says with a smile.

Oh yeah. Journey's End.

Whoops.

I drum my fingers on the console nervously. "I'm sure there won't be a catastrophe," I reassure him. I smile. "Besides, it's like seeing an old family friend you rarely see anymore. It's nice, but every visit has some sort of finality to it, right?"

"Suppose so," he sighs. He claps, rubbing his hands together and plastering a grin on his face. "Alright! 13 Bannerman Road, Earth. Year 2011, maybe? Yes, that should do."

"Oh god," I muse. "K-9, Mr. Smith…" I look down. "Do you think I look good enough for Sarah Jane?"

"What?" he asks.

I shrug. "First impressions." I pick a lock of hair between my fingers. "I suppose the singed ends are cool, right?"

"How am I supposed to know?" he asked. The Doctor starts muttering to himself. "Now, is it the twisty knob or the wavy switch?"

I frown. "Just asking," I draw out. I look at my reflection in the TARDIS light column-thingy. "Eh, alright. Good enough."

"You humans and checking yourselves in the mirror," he grumbles, pulling down a couple switches.

I smirk. "You act like you're above it."

He pauses, staring at me. "I am."

I nod my head to the side. "For now." I look over to him as he opens his mouth to talk. "Spoilers." I grin.

He waves me away and beings looking for something on the dashboard as I seat myself on the floor, criss-cross applesauce

"Just need to start up the red wonky button and—oh, ouch! Ouch, ouch, ouch!" He starts patting his chest.

I stand up. "What's wrong? You're not having a heart attack or something, are you?"

He starts fishing through his inside jacket pockets. "I'm a—ouch—Time Lord, we don't get—ah, hot, hot, hot—heart attacks. Just getting-" He pulls a black piece of wallet leather triumphantly out of his side pocket. "—the mail."

"Someone sent you a message?" I ask. He opens the psychic paper and begins reading. I peer over, looking at neatly scrawled cursive handwriting.

_Doctor_, it says. _The—_

The Doctor snaps the psychic paper shut.

"Hey, I was reading that!" I tell him.

"Didn't your Mum ever say anything about looking where you're not supposed to?" he asks playfully.

I cross my arms over my chest. "I chose to ignore it."

"Of course you did," he mumbles. He takes a deep breath. "Sorry, but Sarah Jane will have to wait for another day. Got a house call."

"From who?" I ask.

He just grins and types in something. The TARDIS jerks to life as I grip the railing, holding for the sake of my sanity. The Doctor begins to laugh, leaning against the railing looking like a five year old at Christmas.

"You're insane!" I tease, but I'm smiling anyway. I like the Doctor like this, all giggles and excited for something. It's better than serious Doctor, for sure.

"Only 40% insane, I'm pretty sure!" he shouts back. The TARDIS calms down, and I release my iron-tight grip and notice the prints a bolted section of railing has done to my hands. "Now, environment checks. I'd get on something warm, maybe bring some money. Fifth drawer just below the typewriter."

I stare at him for a moment. Okay…

I open the drawer to find it stuffed with little bonded bills of money and some coins, fishing through it.

"Uh…where exactly are we?" I ask.

"London, early 21st century," he answers, looking out the door. "You want quid."

"Alright…and what does the money look like?" I ask.

"Picture of Queen Elizabeth," he says offhandedly.

I find the stack and stuff it in my pocket. "You've got a lot of money there," I comment, trotting down the stairs.

"Always be prepared," he warns me. "And companions sometimes leave an extra coin or note around, best not waste it even though the paper is only symbolically valued."

"So…London…" I muse, standing behind him. He doesn't budge from his current position, which is pretty much blocking off the doorway out. "Never seen it before."

"One of my favorites," he comments.

"Could I…see it, maybe?" I ask, waiting for him to move.

He looks back at me, finally getting the gist of what I'm saying, which is "Move your ass before I kick it out of way".

"Oh, yes! Of course," he says.

I peek out the doors expecting to see…oh, I don't know. Big Ben? Buckingham Palace? A double-decker bus or whatever?

I get a parking meter.

"Lovely," I comment dryly. I look back at the Doctor. "So who are we helping, anyway?"

"An old friend," he explains vaguely. "Helped him out with something back in my Tenth regeneration." He's back up at the console, checking a couple things to make sure the TARDIS won't explode while we're gone.

"I thought you said you weren't going to go back," I remind him, staring at the blue parking meter.

"Well, he wasn't a companion as more of an acquaintance," the Doctor adds. "And in all honesty, I can't resist a message like this." He runs back down to where I am. "I thought I told you to put on something warm."

I look down at my flannel shirt and tank top. "I'm already warm," I say.

"London's cold."

"You're not my mother."

"Oh, shut up."

"I will when you do."

He scowls. "Oh, come on, Quigs." He gestures to himself and walks out of the TARDIS.

"You're calling me that because you're pissed, aren't you?" I ask, stepping out.

"Possibly," the Doctor admits, moving into the bustle of people on the sidewalk. "Maybe. Come along! It's just around the corner."

I roll my eyes and catch up with him, closing the door and jogging slightly until he's next to me.

"You still haven't told me who we're going to see," I point out.

"It's irrelevant," he waves away. "There are a lot of people to see."

I pause for a moment as we're shoved around in the chaos. "Do I know them?"

"Probably not," he shrugs. "He's not very known in America and even here he likes to keep a low profile."

We turn a corner. "So just tell me!"

"Hold on a mo," he orders, looking around and stomping. "Damn. One more corner, sorry." He pulls me along.

"Hey, hold up!" I call out, stumbling over my feet and getting a serious flash of déjà vu from when I first met the Doctor. "Oi, slow up!"

He finally stops once we maneuver around another corner and looks around. "Ah. Here we are." He starts walking across the street.

"Doctor, who sent-" I pause, looking up and down the street. Not a lot of people. Apartment buildings. Deli shop with an extended red roof curved to shape a quarter circle. "Doctor."

He stands in the middle of the street. "Yes?"

"This is Baker Street."

He frowns. "Yes it is. How did you know that?"

"Uh," I stammer. "The sign."

"Then why are you so surprised?" he asks.

I snap out of my shocked trance and formulate a quick lie. "Oh, just…heard of this place before. My friend visited here once, yeah."

Maybe it's just a coincidence. But back on the _Hesperidia_, he mentioned him. No, it's too much. A bunch of people live on Baker Street. A ton of people.

"Well, come on!" he beckons, resuming his run to the other side of the road. I follow him.

"Where are we heading?" I ask.

The Doctor points to the door next to the deli marked "221b".

Okay, the residents on Baker Street are more limited than I thought. But maybe it isn't them. I walk behind him as we make our way to the door, the Doctor knocking on it lightly.

It just can't be—

The door opens. "Oh, hello!" Mrs. Hudson says cheerily.

-possible.

This universe continues to surprise me.

"Hello," the Doctor waves. "We're here for Sherlock Holmes."

"What has he done this time?" she asks, concerned.

"Nothing!" I defend. "We're just, uh, clients. Yes, me and my uncle."

He looks at me and mouths, "Uncle?" and I shrug slightly.

Mrs. Hudson frowns at me. "But you're American."

"Him and my mum got into quite the fight some odd years ago," I explain, putting on a small accent to make it authentic. "But, uh, ever since the accident…"

The landlady puts a hand over her mouth. "Oh, you poor dear."

"Yes it was…tragic," the Doctor comments.

She ushers us in. "Oh, come in, you must be freezing!" We walk in. Same hallway, same staircase. Same feeling of adrenaline. "Sherlock and John are out right now, over at St. Bart's. They should be back in less than half an hour."

The Doctor nods. "Thank you."

She smiles. "Just sit here until they arrive. Sherlock's been wanting a new case." She begins walking around the corner before she pauses. "Do you want anything? Tea? Biscuits? I've got some cake in the kitchen."

"We're fine," I dismiss politely. "Thank you, though."

She nods and goes back to her flat—apartment. Not flat. Apartment. Damn British.

We're silent until we hear her door shut.

The Doctor starts going up the stairs.

"What are you doing?" I ask in a whisper, in case Mrs. Hudson might hear.

"I'm inviting myself in," he explains in the same whisper tone. I follow him up as he whips out his sonic, making the door click.

"He's going to kill you," I tell him.

"Many have attempted and no one's ever succeeded," he reminds me. He opens the door.

221b Baker Street.

I'm in 221-fucking-b Baker Street.

The Doctor turns to me. "Jenna, are you alright?" he asks. "You look whiter than a sheet."

I gulp. "Yeah. It's just…I'm in _221b Baker Street_," I tell him.

"Yes," the Doctor agrees. He looks at the psychic paper. "Just as it says. Funny that he isn't here."

I shrug. "Surprise case?" I suggest.

"Possibly…but how would you know he's on a case?"

I decide to lie. "Well, the landlady said something about cases." I point to the desk. "And there's some case files over there."

The Doctor frowns. "You're lying."

I drum my fingers on my thigh. "No, I'm not."

"You said something about Sherlock before, didn't you? On the ship?"

"Well, yeah," I confess.

"So you know of him?" he asks.

"Of course," I say, shrugging.

"How?" he asks seriously.

I look around. "Well, tears in reality are looking to be very funny things…"

He rolls his eyes. "Them, too?" He sits himself on Sherlock's armchair. "What's next, in Captain Jack going to get a spin-off?"

Better keep silent on that.

I go over to the mantelpiece and stare at the skull as it grins at me. "Not my fault Steven Moffat's and Arthur Conan Doyle's minds got influenced by the tears." I turn to him. "Any update on those?"

He shakes his head. Ever since the Hesperidia, we've been keeping a close eye out for tears and rips and holes. It's already been almost a month and we've still found nothing.

I sigh. "Too bad." I turn back to the skull and pick it up. "Mrs. Hudson, she said less than half an hour, right?"

"Who's Mrs. Hudson?" the Doctor asks.

"The landlady," I answer.

"How did—oh, never mind," he grumbles.

I smirk. "Disappointed that I know more than you?"

"No," he grumbles.

I look around and seat myself in John's chair. This is all so _weird_, and I've been travelling with the Doctor. But this, for some reason out aliens and planets, takes the cake. A simple apartment with two armchairs, a sofa, and possibly some limbs in the refrigerator. I've seen worse than this.

"So how did you meet Sherlock?" I ask.

The Doctor, who's fiddling with the sonic, looks up. "Attack of plasmavores back in 2009," he answers, still twirling the device between his fingers. "Came in pretending to be a DI, but he saw through the psychic paper, believe or not. Told him the truth and saved some lives."

"So, any other Tuesday," I joke.

"It was actually a Friday," he corrects. He scrunches his nose. "Nothing pleasant ever happens on Tuesdays."

I laugh. "Amen to that," I agree. I pick up the newspaper searching for something to read while we're waiting. Ew, no politics, thank you. Maybe I'll just stick to the Sunday Comics. "So we're called here because…?"

"Something urgent," the Doctor explains. "Didn't fully explain, which is odd of him. Must be important, he said something about-"

The sound of the door opening startles us. Murmured voices from the other side of the door start bubbling up.

"—idiots, all of them. Never noticed the nail polish."

"Can you stop calling everyone an idiot?" There's the small thumping of footsteps on the stairs.

"Why? It's true. You all see-"

"—but don't observe. Yeah, I got that." There's a pause and a slight stumbling sound. "What? Don't have to shove."

"Someone's in the flat," the first voice says.

"What?"

"I said someone's in the flat, did you not hear me?" the voice has gone down to a stage whisper.

"I did, it's just that a lot of people say 'what' when they're shocked."

It's quiet for a moment before they burst into the room. One's tall, with a dark mop of hair, scarf, overcoat, and suit. The other's a mixture between gray and blonde, short, with a bit more of a pedestrian look to him, cable-knit sweater and all. He's pointing a gun at us.

The Doctor stands up, smiling. "Hello!"

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" the dark-haired one asks.

"Oh, Sherlock Holmes," the Doctor muses. "I'm so glad you asked."

**#**

**Yes, Wholock. Always wanted to try Wholock, I hope I don't suck major ass at it.**

**Reviews are appreciated. Sherlock feeling rants as well. Whatever floats your boat.**

**Until next time!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	15. The Demons of Heaven, Part 2

**More Wholock! Seriously, nobody should suggest TV shows to me because I will think up these crossovers and nobody will be spared.**

**Disclaimer: Everything goes to the writers, the sadists, and the actors. Nothing, if only Jenna, belongs to me.**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

The Doctor is grinning like a fucking maniac.

Most likely because he is one, but that's not the point.

Where was I last time? Sorry, went to go grab some lemonade. Oh yeah! We've got a gun pointed to us. Again. And the Doctor is being charming and all smiley-faced. Again. And I'm dead weight…again.

"I'll ask again, how did you get in here?" Sherlock asks. "It's an anomaly, the lock was bolted shut and now it's not, and there are no signs of damage inflicted on it. You didn't even _bust down the door_."

The Doctor smiles bashfully. "Well, anything's possible when you've got a screwdriver," he explains, throwing the sonic up into the air and catching it.

"There would've been scratch marks."

"It's a special screwdriver," he adds. "Fascinating thing, you were completely _enraptured_ with it, I recall. Wanted to dissect it."

"Why are you here?" John asks.

The Doctor brightens even more at this. "Ah, yes. Well, Mrs. Hudson let us in and I got impatient."

"He's not much for standing still," I explain, still sitting down.

"Still doesn't give you any right to _break in_," John says.

"I prefer the term 'inviting myself over'."

I place my hand on my forehead. "Oi," I mutter. I look up at him. "I told you they would try to kill you. We should've just stayed downstairs."

"Oh, everything's fine," the Doctor reassures. "Besides, it was best to get his attention, couldn't just arrive at the front door. It'd be…boring."

"You're here for a case?" John asks.

"Of course they're here for a case, John," Sherlock scolds. "You can put the gun down."

He does so and the Doctor waits before speaking again. "Yes, a case! Mrs. Hudson said you haven't had one of those in a while."

"I just got one, in fact," Sherlock informs us. "Two, actually. So I would advise you to show yourselves out." He takes off his coat and unwraps his scarf.

I look to the Doctor. "But you said-"

"Ah, ah, ah," the Doctor tuts. He looks around, examining everything. "I _may_ have gotten the coordinates wrong, arrived a little earlier than usual…or right on time, it's a little uncertain."

"Well, which one is which?" I ask him.

"Hard to tell," he admits. "Best play it by ear."

I roll my eyes. "Oh yes. Because that works _so brilliantly well_."

"You are still here," Sherlock points out. "And I said get out. So get out, I have work to do and it's enough to have one lesser mind here."

John frowns at this.

The detective walks past us and gathers some papers off of the mantelpiece.

The Doctor smirks. "What if I said the two were connected?"

The man pauses and turns to him. "What?"

"The murders and disappearances," the Doctor explains. "They're connected."

"And how do you know that?" John asks.

"It says it, right here," the Doctor explains, pulling the psychic paper out of his pocket. "_Doctor, The murders and disappearances are certainly connected. If convenient, come to 221b Baker Street to help. If inconvenient, come anyway. This is urgent._" He shows it to us. "It is signed 'SH'."

"For Sherlock Holmes," I breathe out.

Sherlock frowns. "But I didn't write this!"

"No, not yet." He shuts the paper closed.

"You can't show someone something they haven't written yet!" the detective yells. "And how do you know that's me? There's a fairly big chance there are others with the initials 'SH' out there in the world."

"Yes," I consider, "but I don't think most of them are investigating disappearances and murders. Besides, you send all your texts and practically anything with 'SH'. And let's not forget the 'come anyway' part, its classic you."

"How do you know so much about him?" John asks. He turns to the taller man. "Sherlock, do you know these people?"

He narrows his eyes. "No. I don't."

The Doctor grins. "Ah, you see, that's where the interesting part comes in. You actually _do_ know me. Well, it's a past me, a whole other lifetime ago. Not for you, though, it's probably only been a couple years. Spacey-wacey time and all that."

John opens his mouth, but doesn't speak. Instead he just shakes his head.

I look over to Sherlock, who's frowning at the alien.

"Oh, come on!" the Doctor exclaims. "You're Sherlock Holmes, master of deduction! Surely you can figure out who I am, even with the new look and personality. But some traits stayed behind, you should notice that."

I back up as the consulting detective begins to circle him, looking him up and down.

"The knees of your trousers and your shoes are well-worn, so you do a lot of running," he deducts. "Entire outfit is an anachronism, perhaps you are eccentric, but no…an eccentric would feel some judgment from themselves about what they're wearing, you don't have any. Even with that ridiculous bow tie."

"Bow ties _are cool_," the Doctor argues.

Sherlock waves his hand away dismissively, ignoring him. "Now, you're shoes are interesting. Worn and covered in remnants of dirt from all over the place, some even I can't recognize. You're a traveler, under great stress as well due to how messy your hair is most likely from running your fingers through it too much." He steps up close to the Doctor's face. "Slight scarring on the face, which means you've been in fights before. But the eyes…now, _that_ is peculiar."

"What with his eyes?" I ask.

"They're older than the rest of you," he tells the madman. "The rest of you is biologically equivalent to that of someone in their late twenties to very early thirties, but you've got crease lines around them one would associate with a crone. I've only seen that once before, but…it's impossible."

The Doctor grins and brings up the sonic to their faces. "This got busted up, among others things with me included, in a rather nasty accident a while ago." He clicks it open, the whirring noise echoing throughout the entire fla—apartment. You spend time with British people and soon enough…oh never mind.

Sherlock's eyes widen at the sound and he takes the screwdriver from him, examining it. "No. No, it can't be you. It would require all over plastic surgery, it would show scars."

"It's a funny little trick we…oh, what did you call us? Oh yes, we _other ones_ have. Close to death and we change everything. Face, body, personality…still got the memories, though."

Sherlock, who's been looking at the sonic in the mirror, whips around. "Back on the case, with the young woman, how did we figure it out?"

"The straw left in the trash can and the absence of saliva, of course," the Doctor answers. "Otherwise the police would've thought of it to be a typical case of human playing vampire, which it was _not_."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Obviously. There would've been at least a pint more blood _and_ nobody even cared to acknowledge the suspect's hands were too big to cause the bruises on the victim's wrists."

It's silent as Sherlock realizes what he's just said.

They start laughing like two maniacs.

"Oh, you humans, always going for the stereotypical," the Doctor says.

"Morons, all of them," Sherlock says at the same time.

I exchange a glance at John, who looks completely bewildered.

"Okay, hold up," John says, the laughs stopping abruptly. "I'm confused. How do you know each other?"

"A case back in 2009," Sherlock explains. "Of course, a lot has changed then. He's got a new face, and a hitchhiker."

"Companion," I correct.

"Oi, a lot has changed with you, too!" the Doctor defends. "The flat is different, much cleaner. And it seems you've got a buddy!"

"Flatmate," John corrects. "And it still doesn't explain the 'changing his face' thing."

"Oh, that's easy," I say. I point to the Doctor. "He's an alien."

"Time Lord, to be specific," the Doctor adds.

John glances at the two of us. "Sherlock, are you sure they don't belong someplace else? Like a mental ward?"

"No, it's true," Sherlock argues. "Doctor's got two hearts."

"I do not!" John defends.

The Doctor's eyes widen. "Oh no, not you. Me. That's my name. The Doctor."

"Unlike yours, which is Dr. John Watson," I explain. "See? There's a difference."

"How do you know my name?" he asks.

"I'm a…fan of your blog," I lie. "Kind of. And from the future. Sort of. It's a little more complicated than that." I decide to divert the subject. "But if you want absolute proof, you can use a stethoscope and listen. Sherlock's right, he's got two hearts."

"Of course I'm right," Sherlock scoffs. "I'm always right."

It's silent for a moment. "Well," the Doctor says. "Check for yourself, I don't mind."

John's got his mouth open for a second before blinking and exiting the room to go to the kitchen and returning with the stethoscope. He places it in his ears and puts the little disk thing to the left side of the Doctor's chest, then moving to the right and having his eyes go wide.

"Blimey," he mutters, pulling away and taking the listening device off. "Two hearts."

"More efficient than the usual singular," the Doctor says with pride, tapping his right heart. He inhales sharply. "So, the cases! Strings of disappearances and murders, eh? Strange. Very strange." He walks over, taking the sonic from Sherlock and examining the skull.

"Nothing apart from the usual," Sherlock comments. "I wanted to dismiss them; people are killed and kidnapped every day."

"But?" I ask, knowing that there's one in that sentence.

He grins. "Ah, _that_ is where they get interesting. No fingerprints, no hairs, no _anything_ as to who murdered them. The killer was extremely careful, more than even the usual paranoid murderer."

The Doctor looks at the sonic's readings. "And the disappearances?"

"No clues, apparently," he answers. "Though, you know most of the human race. Always missing the obvious."

"Oi!" John and I exclaim at the same time, equally offended.

"Oh, don't blame yourselves. I see it as congenital, can't be fixed."

I sneer at this, but sigh. "So no clues? As in…what? A lot of dead end evidence or just nothing at all?"

"Nothing at all," John answers. "It's like they've vanished in thin air."

"Of course, that's impossible," Sherlock says, sitting down. "People can't just disappear."

"It happens more often than you think," the Doctor corrects. "Cracks in time, abductions, among other things." He turns to all of us. "Of course you lot wouldn't know, since you don't remember. Except for Quigs, but that's because of a whole different reason altogether."

"Is that your name?" John asks. "Quigs?"

I roll my eyes. "No, it's just a stupid nickname he _insists_ on calling me," I tell him, glaring at the Doctor.

"Oi, it is a _cool_ name and you know it."

I sigh. "My name is Jenna."

"Well, we don't need to introduce ourselves, do we?" Sherlock assumes.

I snort. "Obviously not."

"Good!" the Doctor exclaims. "Everybody knows each other, we've all shaken hands. But people are disappearing and dying, so let's start working, shall we?"

"But from where?" John asks. "All the previous crime scenes have been cleaned up and all the victims were alone."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll find something sooner or later," I say in reassurance. I walk over to the couch and sit down. "Always happens with you two, something'll just pop up."

"Jenna," the Doctor warns. "Stop."

"Stop doing what?" I ask.

"Acting like that."

"Like _what_, exactly?"

"Like you know…what you know," he explains. "Not a lot of people appreciate others holding that sort of knowledge."

"Knowledge?" Sherlock asks.

I ignore him. "I can't help it," I tell him. "And it's not like I _want_ to spoil them unintentionally, if that's what you're so worried about."

"Spoil us?" John asks.

We continue our conversation. "Then stop talking about it."

"I can't," I argue. "I'm here and they're going to ask questions and just generally _talk_, and I'm going to want to comment."

The Doctor sighs. "Fine. Do it."

I sit up. "Do what?"

"That thing you did with me," he answers, moving his hands around. "What did you call it? 'Figuring out where they are', yes. Do that, I know you want to."

"Excuse me, but I am _very_ confused," John says, looking at the both of us.

"As am I," Sherlock agrees. "And that doesn't happen very often."

I hop up. "All in due time," I answer, looking around the apartment. "Now, let's see. John's here, so after 'A Study in Pink', of course. Then again, Holmes without Watson is rare as it is within the canon."

They look at me as if I'm speaking gibberish, which I kind of am.

I turn to the wall. "Smiley face with gunshots in it," I observe. "So after 'The Great Game'. Also a good lesson as to why you should never leave Sherlock Holmes bored and with a gun."

The detective frowns at this, and he has the 'observing' face on. I smirk and walk around the flat, finding a calendar pinned to the wall. "Is this up to date?" I ask.

"Yes," John answers. "But how did-"

"As I said," I repeat, reading the date on the chart, "all in due time. It's February, so after 'A Scandal in Belgravia' since that ended somewhere in mid-January." I turn to the two. "And everything's okay with you guys, so before Reichenbach. That's good. Amazing in fact." I clap. "Okay, so sometime around 'The Hounds of Baskerville', either before or after, hard to tell."

There's a pause.

"Are you done?" Sherlock asks.

I nod. "Yup. Nothing too spoiler-y in that case, but still good enough to scare me into not sleeping the rest of the night."

"Good, because I want to know how you know all of that and why."

I shrug. "Like I said. Complicated. And completely irrelevant to this case."

"No, it is very relevant," he argues, walking up to me. "You know us, but we don't know you. Now, I would understand it with you travelling with the Doctor, but this is different. You are meeting us for the first time and yet you keep acting like you've been on those cases, even though you _have not_."

I want to run away, but stay there and smile. "Who says I haven't?"

He's about to speak when the phone rings. John picks it up.

"Hello?" he asks. "Where, exactly? Has anything been moved? Good. Alright, we'll see you there in twenty. Goodbye." The army doctor hangs up. "That was Lestrade, there's been another killing over near Warwick Street."

The detective turns around. "Well let's go, then." He grabs his coat and walks out the door. John looks to the two of us.

"Uh…you two can come, if you want. Might be a little tight in the cab."

The Doctor waves the idea away. "No, it's alright. We've got a TARDIS."

Dr. Watson frowns and then shakes his head. "I'm not even going to ask."

We walk out as the two get into a cab, heading for the apartment. The Doctor looks around and heads towards the TARDIS, weaving through traffic and crowds of people. The ship has already been plastered with a couple posters for music events and such, and a couple missing person posters. I pull one off.

"Wyatt Dalton," I read, looking at the photo of a man in his mid-twenties with an angular face, five o'clock shadow, and shaggy hair.

The Doctor grabs my arm. "Come on!"

I follow him inside as he begins moving around the dashboard.

"Can't we just walk?" I ask. "I mean, no offense, but I don't want to accidentally end up in the Cretaceous Period trying to cross town."

"Oh, don't worry," the Doctor dismisses. "Travels in time_ and_ space, remember? Just set the coordinates on the corner of Warwick Street, roughly thirty minutes in the future. No bumps, no side attractions…" The TARDIS starts making its traditional staccato before a huge thump roars throughout the room. "We're here."

"That was quick," I comment. "And…smooth."

"The old girl does better with short distances," he admits, patting the rails. He checks the television screen and walks down the stairs. "Now, we've got a particularly stunned consulting detective and his friend outside wondering how the hell a 1960s police call box has appeared next to a bus stop and they need questions to be answered."

I stare at him, stunned.

"What?" he asks.

"It's weird," I comment. "You know, you being all—accurate. Doesn't seem like you."

He straightens his bow tie. "Everybody has their good days."

He opens the doors and we pile out to meet the frankly very surprised and stunned pair.

"Hello, again!" the Doctor greets. "Didn't get off course, did I? When did you last see me?"

"Roughly twenty-five minutes ago," John Watson answers in broken voice. "H-How did-?"

"Space and time travel," Sherlock realizes. "Oh, marvelous! I must get a look inside." He starts to walk towards the spaceship.

The Doctor snaps his fingers and the doors shut. "Not now. We have time for that later."

I look around and notice the scene we're in. Red and blue flashes of light flash on the slightly snowy ground. Just a little ways down the road crime scene tape has cut off a whole block of the neighborhood. There's people, a lot of people. Al moving and asking and talking. It's chaos, but synchronized chaos.

There's a dead body somewhere in the vicinity of that taped area. A body that's already beginning to rot, an inanimate pile of tissues.

I start drumming my fingers on my lap again, my left hand wrapping around my wrist and drawing its thumb across the underside, feeling the beat of my pulse. It's comforting. Sure, the bumpiness of the scabs or raised skin isn't there anymore, but it's become a comforting act, like a security blanket.

A man in a windbreaker and grayish hair walks towards us.

"Took you long enough," Lestrade comments. "Anderson and Donovan were close to having a party." He looks over to the Doctor and me. "Who're they?"

"We're-" the Doctor begins, pulling out his psychic paper.

"They're relatives of mine," Sherlock answers. "Visiting, wanted to…tag along."

"Jenna Quigley," I introduce. I gesture to the Doctor. "And this is my older brother…Alonso." The Doctor glares at this and puts the paper back in his pocket.

"Brother?" Lestrade asks.

"Half-brother," I give in. "But uh…yeah."

"They're cousins from my mother's side," Sherlock answers quickly.

Lestrade nods. "Detective inspector Lestrade," he says. "Come on, it's up on the third floor."

We follow him through the chaos, and I continually try to calm myself down. I don't know why this is so disturbing, the thought of a dead body. Didn't I see about two hundred of those out in space? I shiver at the thought. Thinking about all of it is not helping in the least.

The lobby is nice, with new carpet and everything.

We pile into the elevator and rocket upwards, the single lightbulb flickering above us.

"That's odd," the Doctor comments. He starts pulling out the screwdriver when I stop him, shaking my head and pointing to Lestrade.

"Just a faulty light," Lestrade comments.

"But in a well-kept apartment complex like this?" Sherlock asks. "Surely maintenance would've fixed it."

The elevator dings and we go down the line of apartments, heading towards the open doors leading to the scene of the murder.

None of us care to notice the small cherub statues looking like their playing peek-a-boo on the other end of the hallway.

**#**

**What? I got a chapter done in less than a week? Impossible!**

**Ahahahaha. Can you guess who the murderer is now?**

**Review, if you can, and tell me whether or not I've done good characterization on everybody. It would help very much.**

**Until then!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	16. The Demons of Heaven, Part 3

**Hello lovelies!**

**I'm enjoying writing Wholock. And angels. I'm just very happy in general.**

**I have Hell Week for my school production next week, so updates are probably going to be a little spotty.**

**This chapter is going to deal with some of Jenna's past and so here is a TRIGGER WARNING. It's character development, and fits her. But it's a trigger warning nonetheless.**

**Anyways, I love your reviews and I'm very surprised to see I got SEVEN reviews. Really, it's too much. You guys amaze me. Thank you.**

**I've gone past the 50 mark, which is awesome. But you don't care to hear me babble, do you? Nah, you want the story.**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

Crime scenes aren't as cool as they're shown to be on television.

First, there's no dramatic music or close ups of the victim's body. Just a bunch of people in jumpsuits bustling around a living room. In all honesty it's very surreal. You could easily just sit down and have a cup of juice with the body on the floor.

Sherlock looks to the people in jumpsuits. "Out. Now. I need to work."

One of the workers frowns. "Mr. Holmes-"

He glares. "Out. You're all making the general IQ of the room decrease just standing here."

They all give him dirty looks, but exit anyways.

We all surround the body, and I'm hit with the smell. God, that's disgusting. I plug my nose as the guys examine the corpse.

The man is lying on his back, eyes wide open. He looks normal enough for a guy in his early forties judging by the baldness. Flannel, khakis. Your everyday average dude. A trickle on blood is dried is on the corner of his lip and there's a red stain on his carpet. But his head is at a weird place, completely disjointed from his body, almost.

"Neck was snapped," John deduces. "He's got the bruises and the head's got that odd angle."

"The bruises look small," the Doctor says, grimacing at the dead man. "Whatever did this was tiny, but very strong. That eliminates a couple for species."

"How do you the killer wasn't human?" Sherlock asks.

"Nothing with the Doctor is ever simply human," I mutter. "Always something. Aliens, humans being sent by aliens, aliens in human suits. Robots, hybrids. Can't be anything so simple, never is." I look up. "Not that I mind it."

"There would be scales, hairs, but there's nothing," Sherlock says through gritted teeth. "Married man, since he's got a clean wedding ring. Works in high stress, he's got the bags under his eyes. He was surprised by this attack, he's got the look plastered on his face. Bruises are from the back, so the attacker was not seen. He didn't know the killer. Obviously a high-middle class man, judging by the apartment and tan line from a watch-"

"Too thick," the Doctor comments. "Perhaps…but no, impossible."

"Perhaps what?" I ask.

"It looks like he was wearing a vortex manipulator," he says.

"So he's a Time Agent?" I ask. I look down and get a whiff of the scent again, pushing bile back down my throat.

"Possibly," the Doctor mutters. "But why would he be here?"

"Mission?" I guess. "Uh…some sort of Witness Protection Program?"

"No, that's not it," the Doctor says. He looks around the room and goes to the desk in the corner, pulling open a drawer. "Aha! Here we are."

I walk over, and Sherlock and John trail behind. John looks slightly bewildered and Sherlock just looks like he's annoyed that he doesn't know what we're talking about.

I peer over his shoulder and look inside the drawer. "It's just a regular drawer."

"No it's not," Sherlock corrects, moving me aside and look in with the Doctor. "The lines on the side, different materials from wood. So-"

"—this part of the drawer is an add-on. So behind it-"

"—a secret compartment. But what's inside?"

I try to get closer as the Doctor begins to try to sonic the compartment open. It whirs, the pitch getting higher and higher as I near the drawer. The whole desk begins to shake, and my vision starts to blur. Flashes of frightened faces, my front door, my mom, my sister. I see myself screaming and being sucked into a black hole. The Silence, moving their heads from side to side. The unexpected shall do the guided the task. Destroy the Doctor. The sound of clothes ripping apart, fabric ripping at the seams as if it's being worn on someone and it's a size that's way too small.

The whirring stops and the Doctor looks at it. "Oh, that's interesting," he comments. "Not bad, but really not very good either. And…new."

"New how?" Sherlock asks.

He lets him see the sonic. "See the readings? No, of course you can't only I-"

"Yes," Sherlock answers.

The Time Lord falters. "Well, they're all over the place. Whatever's in there is full of temporal shifts, paradoxes…it's a _mess_." He closes the device. "And guarded, too. Very well, in fact."

"So it's kind of like the drawer in Sirius's house that had the Slytherin Locket," I comment, trying to sound witty but failing as I stumble over my own feet. The pictures keep flashing, farther apart but still there. I walk too close to the body and get the smell again. It isn't a good combination.

"You alright?" John asks.

I nod weakly, but start heading towards the door. "Yeah," I answer. "I just need to get some…fresh air…"

I bolt out of the door, going down the hallway and repeatedly pressing on the button to go down. The elevator opens, and I press the button to send it to lobby as I try to get away from here. I didn't feel it before, but the whole place feels…wrong. Like something's off and not supposed to be here.

The bell dings and I rush past the stares of police officers and out the doors. I keep running (I've gotten used to it not that I have to do it more often) and don't stop until I realize there's traffic and I don't know shit about London.

Hell, I don't even know where I am anymore. How long was I running? The pictures continue to flash.

_You are the unexpected._

_You shouldn't be here._

_Whether you know it or not, you will obey._

I scramble for around, looking for a bench and sitting down. I blink a couple times, trying to bat away the mirages and look across the street. A square garden, full of concrete and trees, in ahead of me. A statue of a man, most likely a king, stands in the center.

"Golden Square," someone comments behind me. I jump and whip around to see John Watson walking towards me. He points across the street. "That's what that place is, Golden Square."

I look over to the area again. "Oh," I respond. I look down. "Thanks."

"Why'd you run off?" he asks.

"Just couldn't handle it that much," I sort of lie. "You know, it's a dead body. And it shouldn't faze me, I've seen them before on TV and stuff and even in real life, but never up close."

"I'm surprised you stayed as long as you did," he comments. "The smell isn't very pleasant."

I laugh. "Yeah, it isn't."

It's silent for a moment.

"I don't mean to sound very rude," I say. "And I probably will anyway, but why exactly are you here? I mean, shouldn't you be back at the apartment investigating?"

"I'm a doctor," he explains. "And you looked like you were about to collapse."

"Well I didn't," I say. I throw my hands in the air. "Whoop-dee-do."

"And your friend the, uh, other Doctor," he adds, saying the name slowly as if he's still wrapping his head around it. "It looks like he genuinely thought you just needed fresh air; otherwise he'd probably be down here."

I smile. "Yeah, he means well, but he's not too good with human emotions sometimes," I say, laughing.

"I know what you mean," John tells me. He pauses for a while before speaking again. "So. Aliens."

I resist the urge to smile and look across at the square. "Yup."

"Like little green men aliens?" he asks, looking down at me and frowning.

I look up at him. "Some of the time. Other times they're purple or blue."

"And the Doctor, he's an alien, too?" he asks.

"Well you saw it for yourself," I say. "Two hearts. And a spaceship."

"So the alien ship people said was a crashed blimp?"

"Real."

"And the Canary Wharf conspiracy theories?"

"True."

"And that whole account in that tiny town about the floating eye in the sky?"

"Very true."

He blinks a couple times, still looking over across the street before turning to me. "Could you scoot over? I need to…sit down."

I laugh and oblige, moving to the left. "It's a lot to take in, I know."

"It's just…bloody hell, _aliens_," he repeats.

"And cracks in time," I add. "Paradoxes. A whole year that was erased from existence."

"A whole _year_?" John asks.

"You wouldn't want to remember it anyways," I reassure him. "Toclafane. Drums. Harold Saxon, it was awful."

"Harold Saxon," John repeats. "Name rings a bell, wasn't he on the television somewhere?"

I smirk. "Yeah, something like that."

"How come you can remember?"  
"Wasn't here when it happened. Saw it, though. It's very…mixed-up, okay? Sometimes I have to take a moment to wrap my head around it."

He puts his hands up in surrender. "Sorry. Won't ask anymore."

"It's like that a lot with the Doctor," I say. "Sometimes he'll go on tangents about these things with time travel and circuitry and I don't evne know what the hell he's talking about." I shake my head. "Sorry, I'm ranting."

"No, I get it," he says. "I'll leave the flat and Sherlock won't even notice I'm gone, he'll just keep talking and even when I am listening one moment he'll be talking about a murder trial and next it'll be about…oh, I don't know, bloody towels or something."

I laugh. "The Doctor does this thing where he'll be both the smartest and dumbest person in the whole goddamn room. I swear to God, he'll be able to tell you the five different ways to wire something but once you give him something simple, like a TV remote, he's oblivious."

"Oh, well, you've seen Sherlock," John says, gesturing behind him to the unseen apartment building. "You know he's known Lestrade for years? Only a couple weeks ago he found out his first name."

My eyes widen. "Oh, that helps so much," I say.

"What does?" he asks.

"You guys are after the Hounds of Baskerville case," I point out. I shiver. "Ugh, that one gave me the heebie-jeebies."

"How did you know about that?" he asks.

I gulp. "Complicated." I smirk. "Like a lot of my life right now."

"Doesn't exactly make me feel better," he says, frowning.

"It's not meant to," I respond. I sigh. "I'm feeling better now; you think they're still at the complex?"

"Probably," he says. John stands up and I copy him. "He's probably giddy as a schoolgirl and figured it out by now."

"Yeah, and the Doctor's probably sonicing the walls," I add. I glance at Golden Square again briefly. Something's off, though. The statue, it's got its arm stretched out to me. The face is contorted to look like a ravenous animal. I stumble back, falling to the ground and hitting the ground. I sit up, groaning.

"Are you okay?" John asks, walking over.

I grimace. "Yeah, it's just that…" I trail off as I look at the park again. The statue is back to normal. "I thought I saw something. But…no, no I'm just being paranoid. I've been seeing things a lot recently."

John looks at my head. "You don't look to have any trauma."

I get up. "I fine, trust me."

A small beeping sound echoes in the air. John pulls out his phone and reads something off of it. "Oh, hell," he mutters.

"What've they done this time?" I ask.

"Don't know," he says. "But this doesn't look too good." He shows me the message.

**People need to observe more, especially when someone is taking something. Meet us at the bus stop.**

**-SH**

"Typical," I comment, smirking.

He nods. "For a man who hates monotony, he can be very predictable. Come on."

I glance at the statue again before following John around the corner, leaving the thought behind.

"Wonder what he's stolen," I muse aloud.

"Probably something very dangerous," John deduces. "A gun, maybe the whole body. He's done it before."

**#**

"It's a box," John realizes. We're standing on a bustling street corner. We all look at the black box in Sherlock's hand. It's about the size of those cases iPhones come in, only slightly larger.

"Excellent deduction," Sherlock remarks sarcastically.

"You snuck past police officers…for a box?" he reviews. "Are you insane?"

"It was the object in the drawer," Sherlock seethes. "Anything that guarded is important enough to steal."

"How'd you manage to get it?" I ask.

The Doctor taps his sonic on his forehead. "Change the frequency, rearrange a couple wires. Easy."

"Trivial," Sherlock adds.

"So…what's inside the box?" I ask.

"Don't know," the Doctor admits. "We can't open it in public, much less manually. Need to go back to flat to study it."

"Any ideas?" John asks.

"Five, so far," Sherlock says, taking the box and putting inside his coat pocket.

"Six, actually," the Doctor corrects.

"Oh, really?" the detective asks, looking over to him.

The alien shrugs. "Just a hunch, but good enough."

Sherlock turns back to us. "Six, then."

We both stare at them.

"What?" they ask at the same time.

"Nothing," John dismisses. "Just you two and finishing each other's sentences and…you know what? I just found out aliens are real today, I need to get home…" He takes in a deep breath. "…and get myself a cup of tea. Then maybe things will be normal…er."

We decide to walk back to the TARDIS and hitch a ride there. John and Sherlock walk some distance behind us.

I turn to the Doctor. "Did you find anything else?" I ask.

"A couple of files," he answers. "Haven't read them yet, but they were marked 'CLASSIFIED' and were hard to resist."

I smirk. "Of course they were."

"I suspect something with UNIT or Torchwood, the material of the box is from earth," he tells me. "And the object inside is most _definitely_ not from here. Not alien, but not _not_ alien, if that's the best way to explain. It's hard to tell. But isn't this exciting?"

"The murders?" I ask. "A little iffy on it, but it is exciting. But meeting Sherlock Holmes and John Watson is a fucking _blast_." I quickly glance over my shoulder to the two of them, who are talking. "I can't wait to see their faces when they go inside the TARDIS."

"That's my favorite part of it all," he says. "The reaction."

"I know," I say. "It's pretty obvious, you make no attempt to hide it."

He frowns. "I do too!"

I laugh. "You're face lights up like you're regenerating again, you do not."

We walk silently, as he's too stubborn to talk to me anymore. On the corner of the street, an young man sits with a sign that says, "Hungry. Lost home and job. Need money for food."

The wad of cash in my pocket grows a little heavier and I begin to fish out a ten pound note, walking over. But then I get a closer look.

He's got a wild look in his eye, slightly shaking. The hand that's not holding the sign is trying to keep itself busy, rubbing itself against his leg. His left sleeve is rolled up so that it's just before the elbow. It's at a good position for easy access while hiding what's underneath, most likely place pinprick scars on the crook of his arm. His clothes are ratty, and he's unshaven. I take a step back, putting the note back inside my pocket.

"Quigs?" the Doctor calls from ahead. "Are you alright?"

Question of the day, every day. I look up to him. "Fine. I was just…never mind."

"You were just what?" Sherlock asks, now beside me since I stopped walking.

The man is still a ways away. "I was just going to give that guy some cash for food."

"Then why don't you?" the Doctor asks, glancing over to the dude. "He looks like he needs it."

"He doesn't want food," I tell him. "He's an addict."

John raises an eyebrow. "Doesn't look like one."

I stare at him. "Of course he does! He's got the look in his eye, the busy hands, the sleeves! All he needs are a pile of syringes and he's set!"

"Curious," Sherlock murmurs. "But correct. Drug addict, and judging by the stain on his shoe I'd guess morphine."

"The TARDIS is only a block away!" the Doctor shouts, trying to divert from a subject he's obviously not comfortable with.

I nod. "Yes. TARDIS." I look over to the duo. "You two are going to freak."

We skirt past the homeless druggie and cross the road to the blue police box. The tape is still up, and people are still walking around, but it's less than before. The Doctor has run ahead of us and is already unlocking the doors with a grin, flying them open. Orangey light completely engulfs him as we catch up with him. He strolls in, and I follow suit, running up the stairs and plopping myself on the chair as I hear footsteps stumble as soon as they enter the room.

I twist my neck to see a bewildered John and a rather stoic Sherlock.

"It's—it's _bigger_ than the outside," John stammers. "How the hell is that possible?"

Sherlock walks outside and returns a moment later and breaks out into a grin. "A whole miniature dimension!" he exclaims, clapping his hands together and walks up to the console. "Almost exactly the same as the one it lives in, only _it's inside of it_. Oh, marvelous."

"Just a short trip, shouldn't be too bumpy," the Doctor says. "221b Baker Street say…five minutes ahead? Yes, that should do the trick. Hold on to something."

He twists a couple dials and pulls the huge lever, and the vwoorping sound echoes throughout the room. It's a lot bumpier than the last time, and I grip the chair in desperation.

"What the hell is going on?" John yells, attaching himself to the staircase railing.

"Don't know!" the Doctor yells back.

"Make it stop!" Sherlock yells, clutching to the railing.

The shaking stops abruptly, and we're all gasping for breath under the adrenaline rush we're getting from nearly being thrown into the console room's walls. I smile slightly at the familiar feeling of my heartbeat increasing. I never got this before, at home. Now it's an everyday sort of thing.

"Well…" the Doctor drawls. "That was unexpected."

I nod. "Very. I thought you said she does well short distance."

He dusts himself. "She does." He looks over to Sherlock, who's inspecting the little black box and stares at it for a little bit before walking towards the doors. "Oh well. Sometimes she's just in a rotten mood."

"This thing in sentient," John realizes.

"Well of course she is," Sherlock sighs, getting up. "It's obvious."

John shakes his head and we follow the Doctor outside. I listen in on the conversation behind me as we walk toward the door.

"We're back on Baker Street."

"Yes. Travels in space and time, I said before."

"Yeah, well I was sort of in shock from the sight of a damn telephone booth appearing right in front of me."

"You've seen bodies before; something like this shouldn't be too different."

"Bodies are very much different. They're real. This is a something out of a _bloody children's novel_. Or hallucination. I'm convinced I'm dreaming half of the time."

"You'd be able to tell if you were dreaming," is the only thing Sherlock says.

"I would be able to—it wouldn't kill you to be sentimental for once!"

"Being sentimental doesn't get to the point."

"You're a-"

I turn around. "Mr. Holmes," I say, turning to Sherlock. I' loud enough to catch their attention. I turn to John. "Mrs. Holmes. We're here, and there a case to solve. So if you could stop this damn bickering that would be _very_ nice and stop the Doctor before he breaks your lock trying to sonic it open, okay? Okay."

Sherlock grumbles and walks up to push the Doctor out of the way before he does anything short of vandalism.

"We're not in a relationship," John states in an annoyed tone.

I smirk. "I know." I hear the click of the door opening.

"And even if we were, I would not be the _wife_."

"Yes, you would," I say, walking through the door.

"I wouldn't!" John defends.

"Yes, you would," Sherlock says, not bothering to look at us and climbing the stairs.

#

I'm sprawled on the couch, and it's almost silent in the flat.

Yes, I said flat. I've given up. The damn British have converted me.

Sherlock and the Doctor are at the desk, staring at the cube. John's typing on his laptop, most likely updating his blog. The stack of files from the dead guy's place is next to me. They boys were supposed to read them earlier, but they haven't yet.

I've got my headphones in murmuring a song under my breath.

"_And I for one can see no blood on the hearts and the wrists you allegedly slit_," I whisper as the song plays out. I drum my fingers on my lap repeatedly before looking at the files and sitting up, deciding to go through some of them.

"Don't," the Doctor says before I can reach out halfway for them. "I'll be reviewing those later, don't touch them."

I stick my tongue out at him and pick up the first one and opening it up to a familiar face.

I frown and fish through my back pocket, pulling out the 'missing person' poster from earlier tonight. Two faces belonging to a Mr. Wyatt Dalton stare at me.

"Curiouser and curiouser," I mutter before the door opens.

"Hello, dearies," Mrs. Hudson greets. She looks at me and the Doctor. "Oh, you've taken their case! Good." She looks to me. "Precious thing, losing your parents at an age like this."

I smile. "I'm better than I was before."

She looks over to the Doctor. "And you, such an angel, taking her in." She sighs. "Well, I brought some tea and a batch of biscuits I made earlier."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock drawls out, still staring at the cube.

John stands up and smiles. "Yes, thank you." He pours himself some tea "Needed this."

Mrs. Hudson grins. "It looks like I've got myself a secret admirer," she states.

"That's nice," John says. "Got any guesses as to who he is?"

She shrugs happily. "Don't know. Might be Mr. Phillips from around the corner. All I know is that he's been giving me these cute little doodads to put in my garden, the sweetheart. Just placed them up on the doorstep I set them a little bit ago."

"Doodads?" I ask, slightly intrigued.

She turns to me. "Oh, you know. Wind chimes, pin wheels. But the best is this little fountain with these cute little cherubs at the top." She giggles slightly. "Whoever he is, he shouldn't hide himself. I'd be happy to go out to dinner with him."

"That's all very pleasant, but I'm trying to solve a case and need absolute quiet," Sherlock butts in.

Mrs. Hudson smiles. "Of course, dear. I'll get out of your hair."

She leaves the tray and walks out, shutting the door behind her.

I turn my attention back to the case file, reading it through. "Wyatt Dalton was a communications officer over at UNIT," I read aloud. "That's a lead, right?"

"Shhh!" Sherlock shushes.

"Communications officer," the Doctor repeats. "Interesting."

"Must be important," I say, pointing to the box.

"Well of course it's important, the fact that the box is connected to an invisible employee means either of two things," Sherlock explains. "First is that he stole it, and the second is that was given to him because something's after it. Judging by the string of disappearances and murders I'd say something's after it."

"But what?" I ask.

"There are a lot of possibilities," the Doctor tells me. "This thing has a lot of energy, that's for sure. Sonic almost split itself in two when I scanned it."

"So…bad?" John guesses.

"Not bad," the Doctor corrects, staring at the object. "But also not very good. Very powerful. And the only thing that makes power good or bad is how you use it."

I roll my eyes. "Poetic. Congratulations, you get a Newberry Medal." I go through a couple more files. "Hey, all these people are from UNIT. Georgina Jackson, Jensen Wilkes, Valerie Tate…all of them."

"And all of them have either been killed or kidnapped," John adds. "So whatever's after this is determined."

I nod. "And very, very dangerous." I turn to the two men sitting at the desk. "Do you think we should be leaving this here?"

"221b is one of the safest places in London," Sherlock defends.

I cross my arms. "People have broken in countless times _and_ it almost was blown to pieces."

The detective looks like he's going to ask something but instead refrains from doing so. "Never mind that. Mycroft's got cameras everywhere, and they're very easy to get into. If anything happens, we'll know."

I nod, understanding. "So do you guys have any more ideas as to what's inside of that thing?"

"Narrowed it down to four," the Doctor says.

"Three," Sherlock corrects. "Can't be nanobots, the hum is steadier than that."

"Alright, three."

I lie back on the couch and try to find anything else in the files, flipping through page after page monotonously and drumming my fingers on my lap again. I jump when the phone starts ringing.

I calm myself down and sigh. "Almost had a fucking heart attack," I mutter. "Stupid electronics."

John picks it up, saying a couple yeses and no's and confirming that he'd be there in ten minutes.

"Lestrade's found some strange-looking substance on the site," John says. "He's got a Petri dish full of it over at St. Bart's."

"Go ahead," Sherlock says.

"Don't you want to go take a look at it?" I ask.

"Can't," he answers bluntly. "Thinking."

John rolls his eyes. "You and your bloody mind palace…"

"I'll go," the Doctor volunteers, standing up. The sonic clicks open and whirs. "Sonic screwdriver's better than any microscope."

"Okay," the army doctor accepts.

I stand up and start getting ready to leave.

"You're staying here," the Doctor says.

I look up at him. "What? Why?"

"You need to finish looking through those files," the Doctor says, pointing to the stack. "See if you find anything."

"But it's so boring!" I complain.

"It's necessary," he insists. "Don't leave unless I tell you to. This place is safer."

"I'm not a child!" I say, but he's already out the door.

"Then wouldn't mind making sure he doesn't blow up half the city, would you?" John asks, pointing to a very concentrated Sherlock. "Thanks."

"But-!" I exclaim. It's useless, though. They've already gone. I plop back onto the couch. "Fucking Doctor with his stupid fucking rules treating me like a fucking fourth grader…" I mumble under my breath, bitterly picking up a file and opening it up.

"Oh, don't whine," Sherlock orders.

"Why shouldn't I?" I ask. "I'm stuck doing boring office work with a self-proclaimed sociopath who's staring at a cube." I pause. "No offense."

"None taken," he says quickly. "Now if you could shut up, I'm thinking."

I roll my eyes and the song changes on my iPod s I murmur lightly under my breath.

"_He trod a path that few have trod, did Sweeney Todd_," I sing/hum. "_The Demon Barber of Fleet Street._"

I go through a couple more files before Sherlock angrily stands up, slamming his hands on the desk table and beginning to pace.

"Can't figure it out…" he says to himself. "Just a plain old box, nothing on it. Steady humming, readings say the object is powerful. No way to open it, no sensors, so locks, no keypads. Impossible! And I can't figure out the damn murder and disappearance cases either!" He knocks down a stack of books.

I stand up. "Okay, dude. You just need to calm down, alright?"

He glares at me. "I cannot just 'calm down', my thinking will be halted. I need to keep on a straight line, right on the case and what it's about. And I can't _bloody figure it out!_"

"You will eventually," I shrug. "That's how it always it. Go through a rough patch then BOOM!" I fling my arms around for emphasis. "Epiphany."

"Oh, you would know, wouldn't you?" he asks sarcastically.

I raise an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Your assumptions, your predictions," he explains, walking up to me. "You're not from here, are you?"

I look at him like's gone as nutty as a nutcracker. "Well of course not," I say. "I'm obviously not British, sipping tea and all that jazz."

"No, of course you're not from Britain," he seethes. "I mean _here_." He gestures to all around him. "This planet, maybe even this dimension."

I sputter. "W-What? Of course I'm from here! I'm just an avid reader of John's blog."

"How'd John and I meet?" he asks.

"You were both in need of a flat mate," I answer. "So your buddy…Mike Somethingorother, he set you guys to meet over at St. Bart's. John offered you his phone and you were able to deduce a lot about him, and then the whole Study in Pink thing happened."

Sherlock smiles. "John never mentioned the phone," he states. He turns around, walking towards his chair.

I pause. "Well…fine. I'm not from around here, okay? What else can you guess about me?"

I regret asking the question as soon as I say it.

Sherlock glares at me, studying me. I nervously start running my thumb over my right wrist again, gulping as he opens his mouth to speak.

"You've got a cat," he says. "Leftover hair on the hat. Was white and not very cuddly judging by the small scar you've got on your face. Middle class family, father was a bit stingy when it came to bills. Your clothes are dressed for the cold, but lightly. You're used to very cold winters, as the thermostat isn't always on in the house during the chilly months." He circles me. "Internet user. You don't blink very often. And from the West Coast, judging by the accent. Pacific Northwest, I believe, from the mud on your shoes. Am I correct?"

"Uh…yeah," I answer.

"Well of course it is, I'm always correct," he waves away. I look at me again. "Continuing on the shoes, they're a mix of dirt and cement rubble, you I'd guess you lived in the suburbs before. How incredibly dull."

I roll my eyes. "Tell me about it."

"You're family isn't dead," he continues. "You react to them when they're mentioned in the present tense. However, you can't reach them. You were taken away from them."

"I left them," I tell him. "But I didn't know about not being able to go back."

He snaps. "Damn. Slightly off."

I smirk. "Well, if you're done then…"

"No, no," he says, not making eye contact with me. I see that he's looking at my arms. "A few more things. You like to keep your hands busy, so you're either a writer or an artist." He squints. "Artist. And you're using that action-" He points to my thumb that's paused its repeated action of running itself along my underarm. "—as a comfort mechanism. You're used to it, you've done it a lot. Which means…" He lifts my right wrist up, pulling down my sweatshirt sleeve and grinning. "Yes, precisely."

I jerk myself away from him, backing into the wall. "How did you-?"

"Slight discoloration of the skin due to scar tissue," he answers quickly, and smugly, too. Too smug, even for Sherlock Holmes.

"You knew before, didn't you?" I guess.

"I had an idea," he explains in a deliberate tone. "And I decided to elaborate on it."

"How long have you had this fucking 'idea'?" I ask him.

"Ever since the homeless man," he explains. "And even then I had a growing thought when I first saw you. All addicts can identify other addicts, no matter the substance. Nicotine, heroin, morphine…" He walks away from me, going to the skull. "And in your case, dopamine. We all can tell that we want the same thing. The rush."

"Well I've stopped," I say.

"Of course you have," Sherlock states, picking up the skull and tossing it into the air, catching it. "Being with the Doctor substitutes for it. Constant adrenaline, constant feeling, no boredom." He places the skull back on the mantelpiece. "Must be fun."

"It is," I say. "Just…please don't tell him. The Doctor. He'd get all guilty and sentimental and start berating himself, and you haven't seen the Doctor when he hates himself."

"I don't think the topic will be arriving anytime soon," he reassures. "So until it does, I'll keep shut about it."

I sigh. "Good."

"Now if I could just figure out this _bloody case_…" he seethes, turning back in angry and frustrated Sherlock. He picks up a book and I duck as he throws it into the wall. "And you're doing nothing!"

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" I ask. "It's not like I can send some goddamn guardian angel down to help…you…oh, I am so stupid."

I go back to the cases. Murders and disappearances. The guy, he had a vortex manipulator. If we was sent back, he could get back immediately afterwards. They had to kill him off. And people disappearing, of _course_ they were. And no fingerprints, no hairs. Can't get that when the murder is made of fucking _rock_. And at the Golden Square, I wasn't hallucinating. No, they'd been there.

"I thought that was already stated," Sherlock responds, not getting what I mean.

"No, I mean I'm _really, really _stupid," I say, putting my hand on my forehead. I gesture to the detective. "I mean, you have an excuse for not figuring it out earlier. You haven't heard of them before. But me, I've seen the, Know about them. I should've seen it sooner."

"What?" Sherlock asks, walking over and becoming suddenly intrigued.

"And the object, the Doctor said it was full of paradoxes, all that timey stuff," I continue. "Filled to the brim with time energy." I facepalm. "Duh. Of course _they_ are after it; they'd never go hungry if they get a hold of it."

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asks, very much confused.

"I know who the murderers are," I say. "They're Weeping Angels, all of them. Creatures who are statues, when you look at them." I collapse onto the couch. "Dear _God_, how could I have not seen this coming? They're called the Lonely Assassins."

"And what do they do, exactly?" He looks like he thinks I'm a moron, which he most likely does.

"They're called the Lonely Assassins," I explain. "Only creatures to kill you nicely, they say. Send you back too far back in time to get back. You practically live to death." I pause. "Unless they decide to snap your neck. They hide out all over the city, disguised as statues."

"They why haven't I figured out they weren't stone?" Sherlock scoffs.

"They're fast," I explain. "Faster than anything you can believe. Turn your back, even _blink_ and-" I snap my fingers. "—you've sentenced yourself to death."

Sherlock stops to think it over and I see his eyes widen as he evaluates this information. "We've got to call John and the Doctor back immediately," he says. He picks up the phone and waits for a quite a while before frowning. "Not picking up."

"Maybe you could send a message to the Doctor via psychic paper," I suggest.

"Possibly. Not too complicated, I figured out," he says, going over to the desk and writing on a piece of scratch paper, pausing before writing some more. "Just increase radio frequencies." He gets up and goes to the kitchen before returning with a small metal contraption, grinning.

"Experiment?" I ask.

"From a month ago," he answers giddily, pointing it at the paper.

I sit up. "You seem to be in a better mood."

"I'm figuring out the case, of course I'm in a better mood." The object sparks and he drops it. "Damn, it broke." He goes back to the phone. "Texting a couple things before calling. "Why isn't he picking up his phone? John's like all the other pedestrians, he can't resist reacting to a phone ring."

"Did the message get through?" I ask. I start getting worried. They might be in danger. They saw us leave with the cube and the city's been infiltrated.

"Possibly. The first one did, but the second one is what I'm not sure of."

"How do you know the first one did?" I ask, starting to feel a little panicked.

Sherlock grins. "Because you're here, and I'm a clever man who knows a paradox when he sees one."

I go over what he's said. "Oh."

"Is that all you can say?" he says, dialing into the phone again. "Oh?"

"Well what do you want me to say?" I ask.

"That I'm 'brilliant' or 'amazing' or something like that," he says.

I roll my eyes. "I'm not John."

"You aren't," he says. "Because John would pick up his damn phone."

I pace around and take a cookie from the tray Mrs. Hudson brought up, deciding to do what I always do in stress and let my mind wander. The tray, brought by Mrs. Hudson. She's nice. Very nice, actually. I'd love to have her for a grandmother or an aunt or something. I mean, she's pretty badass. She can kick butt _and_ her husband was a serial killer. She deserves a new man. Maybe that secret admirer will do her good. He's already doing that, bringing her little gifts for her garden. The fountain will look nice. Fountains may everything look nice. Though, I'd go for a more natural looking one. Those baby cherub ones aren't my cup of—

"John won't pick up his phone," I say.

Sherlock, who's been furiously beating at his Blackberry keypad, stops and looks at me. "What?"

"Weeping Angels," I say. "They're statues, right?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. Hudson's new fountain."

"Ah yes the one with the small…cherubs…" He trails off. He dials the number once more and runs out of the door, holding the phone to his ear. I follow behind him.

We reach the door and he opens it one swift motion.

At first, I only hear city silence. You know, the sound of sirens going off and car horns beeping. People moving and bustling around, leaving footsteps.

Then I look down, following Sherlock's gaze to the ground.

There, in the snow, playing a stereotypical beeping ring, is John's cell phone.

**#**

**Wow. 20 pages, over 6,500 words. That's a lot.**

**Like I said, Hell Week shall make me its bitch. Therefore, I will not have time to write as much as I usually do. **

**I know I crammed a lot in here, but I didn't want to go into too many chapters to follow one storyline. And the self-harm from Jenna is what I believe to be canon about her. If you disagree, please tell me.**

**Reviews would be very much appreciated, as would favorites and follows. All the things of that like.**

**Alright, I've got to go practice my lines. Adieu!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	17. The Demons of Heaven, Part 4

"**Much Ado About Nothing" has been going swimmingly so far! I've been writing in between the acts I'm in, so I'm sorry this is a little late. Between the late nights and cast parties it has been hard, but here you are my lovelies!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

I hear the beep of Sherlock stopping his call, and the ringtone ends. It's dead silent, creepy in fact. No one's on the road. Just me, a man, a phone, and snow.

I look around. Maybe the Doctor's escaped. He's run away before, this can't be any different. I search for a strange-looking man or possibly the sound of the TARDIS materializing, holding him and John inside. I just want them to appear like nothing happened and invite us out for Chinese. But I look down to see two sets of footsteps.

Two sets that stop abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk.

It is that moment that, though I hate to admit it, I cracked.

"They're gone," I announce shakily. "They're gone, he's _left_ me."

Sherlock scoffs. "Jenna, be reasonable, you're-"

I ignore him. "I've fucked it all up, _I_ did this. The angels send you back in time, what if he can't get back? He'll never rejoin with the Ponds, he'll never save everybody and be Superman to the universe again and—goddamn it, I did just as they said. I destroyed him."

"I really don't think-"

"And even if he is still alive, the age has got to be wrong. He'll be too old, everything will go wonky. The timeline will change…things that are supposed to happen will _never happen_." I feel my throat thicken and I let out small gasps for breath. "And he's forgotten me, if he is alive. Forgotten me and left me here. Otherwise he'd be walking down the street right now, right?"

"Of course," Sherlock answers honestly. He looks up and goes still. "Jenna, we need to leave." He grabs my arm, preparing to take me inside.

"No!" I yell, pulling myself away from him. "I'm not leaving until he gets back." I look back down at the phone again. "He wouldn't leave me, he wouldn't. He cares for his companions, he always comes back for them when he knows he can. He wouldn't just leave me to be fucking _alone_ like this."

"Jenna, that isn't of importance right now," Sherlock seethes.

I turn to him abruptly. "It's _not important_?" I ask between my teeth. "They're gone, the _both_ of them right now. Judging from experience, the John is _dead _by now, he is _in the ground_." I pause. "And that's not important?"

"I've acknowledged it, trust me," he says. He points to right above me. "But we need to go. Now."

I turn around to see a small cherub perched on the top of the door way, hand extended and just inches away from my face.

I keep a scream in the back of my throat and swallow it.

"It's been there all throughout your tirade," he explains in back of me. "Was further away when I saw it, though. Curious…"

"Don't stop looking at it," I order. "Don't look away, don't even blink. But don't look into its eyes."

"Not good?" he asks.

I back away from the angel slowly. "Bit not good. Just keep looking at it until we get inside. Come on!"

I keep watch over the angel as Sherlock shoves me inside, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

"We've got to move," I say. "They can get the doors open, even if you lock it. Especially if they're not scavengers."

The doorknob starts jerking back in forth.

"I've gathered that," he says, and we bolt up the stairs.

The lights flicker above us as I shut the door behind me, leaning against it for reinforcement. I lock the door and we wait for a couple moments for the sound of footsteps or the door attempting to me opened.

Nothing happens.

"Maybe they're too weak," I say, sighing and standing up straight.

"Most likely they're trapping us," Sherlock corrects. "Can't survive in an apartment for more than a week."

"You don't know that," I say.

"From experience I'd say roughly nine days, if supplied with food," he continues. "And John is—was—due for a run over to Tescos."

I keep myself against the door, but continues to walk aimlessly around the room.

"So we just wait here until we die?" I ask bluntly.

He rolls his eyes. "Teenagers are always so pessimistic," he mutters. He ups the volume of his voice. "No, we are not going to wait here until we die. Sooner or later we'll be able to escape."

"And you're just okay with this?" I ask.

He looks at me. "Of course I am. I've been in worse situations, surely you notice that."

"But they're gone…dead," I remind him.

He frowns. "Not the Doctor."

I hug myself. "Maybe. I don't know. He might've, knowing what's ahead for him."

"And what is ahead for him?" he asks.

I look up. "Nothing you need to worry about. It's yet to happen in your timeline."

"So you know what is to come?"

"Of course I do," I say. "I told you, I'm not from here."

"Well I gathered you were from the future," he says in his same condescending tone. "But not the Doctor's future."

"I'm not, really," I confess. "It's very…complicated."

"That seems to be a favorite word of yours," he muses, picking up the harpoon in the corner and then setting it down after a brief inspection.

I shrug. "It's the only word close enough to describe everything right now."

"Surely you can be more creative."

I glare and stand up. "You never answered my question."

Sherlock continues to inspect the room, not looking at me. "To be fair, it wasn't a question. It was a statement. You were just waiting for my reaction."

"Yeah, and you decided to completely veer away from it," I point out.

"No, I just switched the perspective over to you."

"Still, I'd like a response."

He finally looks at me, glaring. "Alright. John is possibly dead. I am angry about it, but that is all. There is a huge possibility that he may not be dead and we can save him. So, until that possibility is eradicated I shall continue to only feel angry." He pauses. "Are you pleased with that reaction?" He flops onto the couch.  
I gulp. "Yeah…fine." I sigh. "So we just wait until something comes along?"

"Precisely."

I frown. "Doesn't seem very fun."

"I'm not for it either, and it's not supposed to be _fun_," Sherlock points out. "But it is the only thing we can do. The Yard is already wary of me, angry at themselves for being such idiots."

I scoff. "Yeah, sure. And I don't think calling them and saying 'Fountain statues sent my flat mate into the past' is going to have them move any quicker, much less without a straightjacket and needle."

"It'd be easy to escape, anyways," he adds.

It's quiet for a couple of moments before I speak again.

"So…" I drag out, rolling back and forth on my feet. "What-"

"Please don't."

I frown. "I didn't even finish the question."

"You were going to ask me a trivial question in an attempt to keep the conversation going and stifle your boredom," he explains. "I'm not interested."

"Well, what do you propose I do?"

"I don't know, things adolescents do in their free time," he guesses.

"Which would be…?"

He sits up and looks at me.

"Are you asking me from experience? Because by the time I was your age I was applying to the University and writing my essays in multiple languages."

I cross my arms. "I was just asking for suggestions, no need to be so rude."

He shakes his head. "Play football? Listen to whatever god awful music genre is popular these days? Play that game with the pigeons being catapulted into fortresses?"

I sigh and slump against the wall again. It's quiet for a while, maybe a couple hours more or less. I don't know because after the exhaustion and mental breakdowns I kind of just pass out.

_My dreams are weird again. Not normal weird, like waking up next to your history teacher who now has T. Rex arms, but creepy weird. I'm being held somewhere, and I have this raging sense of guilt around me. This is my fault, all my fault. I led him here; all we did led him here._

_He positioned right next to it. That damn machine, sparking with life and destruction and sadness and bliss._

_He'd do anything for his friends. For happiness, for safety. The idiot, he's willing to do _this_ just to keep me here._

_No. I can't let that happen._

_We're both facing the machine, the Cage. Both being led towards it._

"_Now who'll be first?" they ask._

_I can't let him go. He has so much to do. I can't I can't I can't I—_

I hear the sound of a gunshot and wake up, gasping for breath.

Another gunshot fires, the sound of the bullet making impact just a few feet away from me.

Sherlock's holding a pistol, firing it at the skeleton painting.

"What the hell?" I ask, getting up and ducking when another bullet is fired. "Where'd you get the gun?"

"John always keeps a spare in his pants drawer," Sherlock answers simply.

I pause. "And how'd you know that?"

"He's out of the house a lot."

Yes, because that is a straightforward answer.

"Any new leads on the box?" I ask.

"I've narrowed it down to two possibilities," he announces. "But that was quite a while ago."

"Any news about the Doctor and John?"

"None."

"How long was I conked out?"

"You ask a lot of questions. It's a little after midnight."

"So I've been asleep for…two and a half hours?"

"Is that a question or a statement?" He fires another bullet.

I wrinkle my nose at him. "You're irritable."

"I'm bored, I've got nothing to do, and I have no leads," he seethes. He drops his arm and glares at me. "Sue me."

I walk over to the desk. "Someone's on their period," I mutter.

"That is physically impossible."

"I was being sarcastic," I point out. I sigh. "Have the angels tried anything?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. Everything's so _still,_ so dull. It's maddening."

"So I've observed," I say, staring at the box. "What's in here that the angels would be so intent on getting to it? It's so small, can't be that powerful…" I reach for it, but I feel a jolt surge through my arm. I wince, but shake it off.

Sherlock turns to me. "Did something happen?"

I shake my head. "No, just static shock," I say. It's not a lie, more like an act of making the whole thing a lot smaller than it actually is.

Sherlock shakes his head. "I need stimulation!" He goes up to the mantelpiece and shakes the skull. "Come on, he usually stashes them here…"

He continues to ransack the mantelpiece desperately. I know the look, I've seen him wear it before. And me, a couple of times. Searching for something. In my case, it was always a thumb stack or safety pin or a straight edge from the craft drawer.

"Which kind are you searching for?" I ask. "Needles or cigarettes?"

"Please, Mycroft would've taken away the needles already," he dismisses. "Patches won't be enough."

"Why not?" I ask.

"The several instances of today have driven me past them," he answers simply. He turns to me. "Now will you assist me in this?"

I take a step back. "Sorry, dude. I'm not the kind of person who can sniff out stuff like that."

"Obviously, but you seem to know what John's like. Don't know how, but you do." He sighs. "Another one of the things that are pissing me off."

I smirk. "Huh," I say. "You know, this is pretty awesome."

"What is?"

"Knowing something you don't." I twirl, smiling a reveling in the feeling. "It rocks. I can see why you like acting like such a smartass."

"You're being ridiculous," Sherlock says.

"Part of the job description when travelling with the Doctor," I tell him.

He waves me away. "Just help me find the cigarettes."

I shake my head. "Nope."

"Just a hint. _I need them_."

I laugh. "No, you don't," I say. "I don't need mine anymore, so you don't need yours."

He smiles deviously. "Oh really?" He grabs my arm and puts something in my hand.

I look down, and in my palm is a small straight edge blade. I can already feel the connections being made in my head. Blade equals cutting. Cutting equals rush. Rush equals good. The Doctor might not come back. The adrenaline will stop. I need that feeling. Maybe just one mark, that'll do. Yes, one mark…

No. I can't go back to that.

I gulp. "Sorry, but I really am. No thank you."

Sherlock smirks. "Then give me back the blade."

I look down and gulp. Blade equals safety. Blade equals escape. I can't give away my escape.

"You're cruel," I comment.

"No, I'm merely showing you the truth," he states. "You'll never be able to push it away. No matter how many times you deny it, the craving will still be there."

"I knew that."

"No, you didn't."

"Well I do now," I say. I pocket the blade. "They're probably in the place you'd look through last. Hidden in plain sight, somewhere you usually overlook."

"I never overlook anything," he says, but he's already analyzing the flat.

"It's hide-and-seek logic," I say. "And no, you don't. Taxi driver? Moriarty?"

He hesitates. "Shut up."

I start looking too, when I spot the kitchen cabinets. Of course. A lot of hiding space, multiple cups and things to put things in. Domestic, easily blended into the scenery. I'm tempted to tell Sherlock, but I won't. The bastard deserves it, no matter the circumstances.

I sigh. "You won't find them," I say.

He scoffs. "Please."

"You won't," I say, smirking. "I know where they are."

"Do you?" he asks absently, ignoring me.

"Well, a hunch," I admit, shrugging. "But it's good enough to go on."

"Then tell me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because that's what you get for being a jerk to me."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on."

"No." I walk up to where he is, which is at the desk, and poke him in the chest. "You treated me like nothing, so you get nothing. Fair and square."

I quickly dart my eyes over to the kitchen cupboards, just for safety. I hope I'm quick enough that he doesn't catch it, but it's futile. He's Sherlock fucking Holmes. I see a grin grow on this face and I respond immediately, running to the cabinets and sprawling myself over them, trying to protect them.

"Just one," he insists. "No more, just one."

"Nope," I say. "John won't let you at them, so neither will I."

"You are particularly stubborn on this," he points out, trying to find an angle to break down my defense.

"I'm a teenager," I insist. "It comes with the title."

He doesn't talk, but lunges and pries open one of the cabinet drawers, and it's useless. I back away as he goes through the shelves, throwing cups to the ground before holding up an ironic 'Keep Calm and Carry On' mug and fishing a pack of cigarette out of it, reveling in his victory.

I sigh, putting my hand on my head. "Fine, you win."

"I always win."

"Yeah, sure." I look at the mess. "Go and smoke, fine. I give up, go choke your lungs. I'm going to clean up."

He walks off, and I look at the catastrophic state fate of the kitchen in defeat. My foot crunches on broken ceramic as I begin to put the still-intact mugs back inside. God, these cupboards are old. Painted over several times, and they creak when I place the cups in them.

I scoot a couple mugs over to make room when I see the paper stuffed in the corner.

Mind you, it's hard to spot. It's jammed into the corner, all worn and covered in dust and cobwebs. It certainly wasn't just a misplaced wrapper; it's worn and doesn't have a shine to it. Out of curiosity I reach inside the cupboard and tug it out of the corner. A cloud of dust erupts and I cough.

"Don't be so blunt, I haven't even lit up yet," Sherlock says.

I ignore him and inspect the paper, brushing it off to the read the four words written in dark ink on the front.

_To Sherlock and Jenna_.

I stumble back. "Sherlock!"

"Leave me be!" he yells back. I can already see the smoke coming from the living room.

I run over to Sherlock, whose lying on the couch with a cigarette in his mouth. He exhales and a puff of smoke erupts like his face is a volcano. Or an oven with food that's been cooking too long. Okay, bad simile-metaphor-thing, but you get the idea.

"Get off your ass, I found something," I say.

"Good for you," he says, eyes closed.

I shake my head and kick him. "Oi! I found something _important_." I shove the note in his face.

He opens his eyes and takes the paper from my hand, sitting up with the cigarette still in his mouth.

He unfolds the paper and reads it quickly before standing up and grabbing his coat and scarf.

"We've got to go," he says.

"But there are angels out there!" I remind him.

"Doesn't matter, I know how we can get to John," Sherlock says, wrapping his scarf around his neck.

"And the Doctor," I add.

He stops. "Yes. And the Doctor."

I look over to the black box on the desk, walking over to it. "We should probably bring th-"

"Don't touch that!" Sherlock yells, making me jump and jerk my arm away from the object.

I look over to the abandoned note on the couch and go over to pick it up as Sherlock grabs the pistol and the rest of the pack of Marlboros. The writing is in all caps, but small.

_Sherlock and Jenna,_

_If you're reading this, it means that everything's okay. So far, I mean. We just got the message on the Doctor's psychic paper. It was only half of the intended sentence, but we guessed as much from what it said. The Weeping Angel—that's what the Doctor calls them—sent us back to 1896. So, by now, I'm dead. That's horribly morbid, isn't it? Well, I shouldn't be, if all goes according to plan._

_It's been two months since we last you two. Judging from what the Doctor says, it's only been within a couple hours for you. It's a little hard to wrap my head around. The Doctor describes it as 'timey-whimey'. _

_Life's been good. Strange, but good. We landed in front of Baker Street in the middle of the night. Apparently the roads are wider here because we almost got ran over by a carriage. The landlady took us in. Strangely enough she's named Mrs. Hudson, too. Different first name, of course, but isn't that a coincidence? I got back into the surgery, and I'm pretty well known. I suppose that happens when you've got knowledge of things like penicillin. The Doctor's gone almost absolutely bonkers trying to get us back. Until the message came along, of course._

_Jenna, I haven't known you for very long, but I just hope you've kept Sherlock from doing something idiotic. And if he has already, just make sure it hasn't been anything too illegal…or fatal, for that matter._

_And Sherlock, if you've done something like that I'm going to kill you. Even if I'm dead at the moment I will rise from the bloody grave and drag you down with me. Hell, even if you're dead I'll figure out a way to kill you again. So don't do anything stupid._

_Alright, the Doctor wants to write now and he's been breathing down my neck for the past couple minutes. Just be safe, and hopefully I'll see you soon._

The writing changes from neat and bold to a thin scrawl with smudges that make the identity of some of the words a little changeable. I'm able to get the gist of it.

_Ah, hello. Sorry if I'm not writing this correctly, I haven't written a letter in a while. Or written at all, in fact. I prefer calling, but the flat here has yet to install a telephone, surprisingly enough. Besides, I wouldn't be able to call you all the way back from 1896._

_Where was I? Oh yes, instructions._

_We're stuck right now. Very stuck. Two months are maddening when they're placed out in ordinary life. We've adjusted well; I even got a new hat. But we need to leave, very soon._

_The Angels took us, though you've probably already gathered that. And they'll take you, too._

_I figured out what's inside. Don't let them touch it, and don't let Jenna either. Don't even let her get within a meter of it._

_I need you two to get to the TARDIS and plug in the coordinates '7/456/blueberry/42' into the typewriter. The girl should let you in and send you to us not ten minutes from me stashing this letter away in the cupboard. Place the cube on the dashboard, right next to the ketchup and mustard buttons. It should stay stationary until you come and retrieve us._

_You're going to have to try your best not to blink. There are three of them out there, give or take. More throughout the city._

_Jenna, if you haven't already tell Sherlock all you know about the Weeping Angels. Surely you know as much._

_Good luck._

_Sincerely,_

_John Watson and the Doctor_

I look up to see Sherlock stuffing the box in his coat pocket. "Are you ready?"

I stuff the letter in my pocket and take a deep breath. "Yup." We walk up the door, preparing ourselves for the onslaught.

"Just for review, we have to keep looking at them?" he asks.

I nod. "Don't even blink."

"And the eyes are not a place to look?"

"Definitely not."

"And why is that?"

"Bad things will happen," I answer.

He pauses. "This is going to be very dangerous, you realize that."

I smile. "Of course I do."

"And that there is no going back?"

"I haven't been able to go back for quite a while now, I'm used to it."

Sherlock nods. "Three…"

"Two…"

"One."

The door flies open. And we run.

**#**

**Yes, cliffhangers. I write cliffhangers. Cliffhangers are cool.**

**So, apparently, Martin Freeman knows about Red Pants Monday. And John Barrowman is going to be in the Doctor Who 50 year anniversary episode.**

**All in all I'm very happy.**

**Next chapter should be up either very soon or very late. Theater is a busy business, guys.**

**Until then, my precious children.**

**-JustStandingHere**


	18. The Demons of Heaven, Part 5

**And this is the end of "The Demons of Heaven". Writing Wholock is a blast, guys. Seriously.**

**This is a long one, darlings. Over 7,000 words. It's not my favorite, but I think it works well. If it doesn't, tell me.**

**So, after much time, here you are!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

Running has become a common thing with the Doctor, but it's never been like this. Because he's not here, so I don't have someone to follow. I'm not running for the safety that usually emanates from running with the Doctor, but running for myself. It's new and invigorating.

We bound down the stairs and everything's a blur. We see them, though, perched on the doorway like cats on tree branches. Waiting and watching. There's only two of them as we skid to a halt.

"Where's the third?" I ask. I turn around and a third cherub is on the stairs, paused in its descent and crouched like the girl from _The Ring_. I glance back over to the other two to see them now still on top of the doorway but having their hands extended towards us.

"Keep an eye on those two," I order, turning back to the third angel. It's descended a couple more steps now. "I'll watch this one. As quick as you can, open the door and _run_ straight into the TARDIS. I'll follow behind you."

"And what good would you following me have?" he asks, not moving from his vigil on the two cherubs.

"The TARDIS doesn't like me," I say. "And I've had more experience in this area, so do as I say before we get sent back to Rome for some shit."

He doesn't say anything, which I take as a, "Fine. Okay. Whatever you say."

It's quiet for a couple moments before I hear the door open behind me. I back out slowly, switching my gaze between the three cute little angelic demons before shutting the door. The knob already begins twitching when I feel the light of the console room consume me. I run straight inside and shut the door, speeding towards the console.

I point to the red and yellow buttons. "Put the cube there," I say, and Sherlock silently takes out the mysterious thing, placing it on the dashboard. The moment the two things touch the box is covered in dark blue energy that's sparking and popping. My mind flashes back to the dream, but I quickly wave it away.

"I'm guessing the TARDIS doesn't usually do that," Sherlock assumes.

I shake my head. "Nope. But we've got people to save and places to go."

I get out the note and furiously type the coordinates in, pressing enter and hearing the ding. The whole room starts to vibrate and I grin.

"Find something to hold onto!" I say, gripping the console.

He does the same, and the whole room bounces back and forth like it's on the San Andreas Fault. It's never shaken this much before, and my knuckles turn a painful white as I hold on harder, bouncing on the console like a rubber ball. Ouch, that's going to leave some bruises.

I keep my mouth shut and wrap my arms around the railing, trying to get a better grip.

Sherlock's doing the same, but he looks calmer. He's quickly scanning the entire console, eyes darting back and forth while trying not to slam into the wall. He grits his teeth and edges himself a little more down the console and extends his hand over one of the myriad of buttons, pressing down on it.

The shaking lessens and stops in a matter of seconds. I drop to the ground, giving my head an informal meeting with the floor. I groan as I prop myself up.

"Bugger," I mutter. I pause. "Damn it, I've gone British."

"Oh, stop your whining," Sherlock says, rolling his eyes. He's already standing up. "We're almost there."

I hoist the rest of my body up until I'm also standing, clutching my head and looking at Sherlock, who although looking slightly ruffled is calm and silently pressing a couple buttons.

"What'd you do?" I ask.

"Simple," he dismisses. "Pressed the blue stabilizers."

I blink and look at the small blue nubs. "But how-"

"It wasn't too challenging," he answer, still turning a couple of things. "I gathered most of what these controls do from the trip home and the rest was child's play. Blue stabilizers, whirly handle to avoid crashing into something…or someone, more likely, and a couple of buttons to stop bumping side by side in the time vortex." He points to each device with ease.

I stare at him. "Are you a Time Lord or something?"

He rolls his eyes again. "The Doctor's the last of his kind. That is obvious enough. I'm just very observant." He pauses. "Well, that and I was able to knick the small guide he has in his pocket."

"You pick pocketed him?" I ask.

"Of course, though the transdimensional pockets made it a little more tricky than usual," Sherlock adds. "Made it a little less dull than stealing from Lestrade." He pulls out a small slip of paper that's old and worn, even more so than the letter. "I was aiming for the screwdriver."

I swipe the paper from his hand and unfold it. A bunch of jumbled words and diagrams lie on an 8x11 piece of paper in printing so small it's barely discernable.

I laugh. "I always thought it was a little weird that he could memorize all the functions of the TARDIS," I remark, looking over the miniscule instructions.

"We're close to our destination," he announces, tapping a couple more buttons and frowning at a part of the console. "What kind of idiot leaves his breaks on?"

"The same kind of idiot who by no means a responsible adult yet calls himself the Doctor," I say. "A brilliantly mad one."

"Only kind of tolerable idiot there is," Sherlock adds with a slight smirk.

The grinding sound echoes throughout the room.

"You best not mention this to the Doctor," I tell Sherlock. "He doesn't exactly like it when people drive better than he does."

"Well, if he became a better driver then maybe he wouldn't have to encounter the problem so much."

I smirk. "You know, you and River Song would get along very well."

"And who is this 'River Song'?" Sherlock asks, obviously laughing at the name.

"The Doctor's wife," I answer. "But don't tell him that, he doesn't know yet."

Sherlock blinks a couple times, but doesn't say anything more.

"They have a complicated relationship," I add.

"I assumed as much."

The noise stops and we land with a low thud that reverberates under my feet.

I go around and pull the screen up, pressing the top button that I've come to know as the power switch.

"London," I read aloud. "1896. Victoria's in power, England's a strong nation stretching across the globe." I turn off the screen. "We're here."

I run down the stairs, opening the doors to find a rather dark and dismal setting. Oil lamps line the street, only blurry specks of light in the dense rain. I've only been out the doors for a few seconds and I can already feel the water beginning to soak through my shoes.

I walk a couple steps more and in the blur of the rain I run into someone.

"Oi, watch it, will ya?" the stranger growls. "Ya blind or somethin'?" He walks on.

"Be it 1896 or 2006, London's always going to be the same," Sherlock says from behind me, shutting the TARDIS doors. He looks around. "We're just a block from Baker Street."

"We're over a hundred years in the past and you still recognize the streets?" I ask.

"They've been renovated, not wiped off the map completely," he says. He grabs my arm and tugs me along. "Come on."

"Oi!" I yell out as I trip over my own feet. Wow, déjà vu. "Slow down, I feel like a rich kid's dog."

"Can't," he answers simply.

I trip over something like a tin can on the sidewalk and catch myself on my feet. "Oof! Why?"

"Victorian London, there's a lot of thugs and burglars and not to mention serial killers dumping their bodies in the Thames to be left to the scavengers."

I take this in. "Fair point."

I half-drag, half-walk the rest of the way until I'm able to catch up and get free, walking calmly on my own.

"I feel like the Ghost of Christmas Past is going appear around the corner," I say.

"More likely a copycat of Jack the Ripper," Sherlock mutters. We cross the street.

I snort. "You call me pessimistic."

"Because you are, I'm being realistic."

I cock my head to the side. "Sometimes there's not much of a difference."

Sherlock ignores me and looks up and down the street. "Speedy's used to be a butcher shop. Seems fitting."

I almost ask what he's talking about when I remember the red-roofed sign placed next to the flat back in 2011.

"It's here?" I ask. I look around. "Doesn't look like it."

"To you," Sherlock reminds me. "You don't see the brick foundation similar to one holding up the flat in the modern-day, the small rhododendron plants just planted that will later become the bane of Mrs. Hudson's hobby in gardening, nor the _bronze 221b practically gleaming from the door_."

I look around and squint. "Oh."

"Moron," he mutters.

"Well sorry I didn't see anything through this damn rain," I say sarcastically, shifting in my damp sweatshirt.

We walk up to the door. "It's not your fault entirely. From an early age parents wish for the observations of their young children to be kept quiet and suppressed as to not embarrass themselves. I simply ignored that idea."

"It's a wonder I haven't seen someone slap you yet," I muse aloud.

"It happens, I just happen to have a high pain tolerance," Sherlock says. He looks to my arm. "As do you."

I hide it behind my back. "Don't mention it to the Doctor, remember? He'll go berserk."

"Keeping secrets is futile, they always come out in the end." He rings the doorbell. "Now how's your accent?"

I thrown by the sudden change in topic. "Uh…it kind of fluctuates between Dick Van Dyke in _Mary Poppins_ to Johnny Depp in _Sweeney Todd_."

"Lean more for murderous barber," Sherlock advises.

"Why-" I'm interrupted by the door opening.

A woman in her mid-seventies with graying hair and a nightgown is at the door, smiling. "Hello dearies, what brings you to this late hour?"

Sherlock immediately puts on what I like to call his 'normality' face, grinning pleasantly. "We've come to see the residents of this building."

"Dr. Watson and Mr. Smith?" she asks.

He nods. "Yes, that's them. Jennifer has been awfully ill lately." Oh, great. Jennifer, how creative!

He nudges me slightly with his elbow, and I immediately go back to freshmen year Drama class, slumping a little and letting my eyelids droop, pretending to stifle a cough.

"Well I suppose she would be to dress like that!" she chides playfully. "No offense, dear, but you're wearing trousers. And they're ripped at the knees!"

I make a small laugh. "'s all we've got," I say, putting on the accent. I fake a cough. "Could I see Doctor Watson now?"

"Oh, of course," the landlady says, beckoning us inside. "Get out of that nasty weather, the two of you. Come on, come on."

She shuts the door behind us.

"Thank you," Sherlock says, faking the kindness again. "Upstairs, correct?"

The landlady nods. "Knock, they'll hear you. I swear, those boys are up all night." She nods to me. "I hope you'll get past this, darling. You and your…?"

Me and Sherlock exchange a glance.

"Uncle," I say, before he can answer. "He's my uncle."

She nods again. "If you need anything, just call for me. Joyce Hudson, remember that?"

I smile weakly and sway a little. "I'll try."

She leaves, and I take a second to look around the flat. Generally it's same, substitute the more audacious-looking staircase and furniture. Also, the stairs aren't carpeted, and the smell is much more musty and smoky.

Once she closes the door I turn to Sherlock. "Jennifer? Really? Couldn't you pick a more creative name than that?"

He rolls his eyes. "Please. At least I didn't fail my acting class."

I hesitate. "I got a B-minus, shut up."

I hop up the stairs enthusiastically, deciding to end the conversation and get to the important stuff, like saving our friends/flat mates.

I go up to the door and see the little plaque on top.

"Dr. John Watson, professional medical practitioner," I read out loud. "John Smith, professional everything and anything."

"Fits the both of them." And with that, Sherlock knocks on the door.

There's a sigh that's heard from inside the flat.

"Mrs. Flaherty," John's voice says, kind but exasperated. "I'll tell you again, the mole is benign. This is the seventh-" He stops as soon as he opens the door. "Time…this week…"

He's dressed in the clothing of the day, so he's got trousers, dress shoes, a button-up shirt and a vest. He kind of reminds me of Frodo.

Sherlock grins, for real this time. "Hello, John."

John blinks a couple times and breaks into a smile. "Took you long enough."

I frown. "How late are we?"

"About a day," he answers. "Almost thought the letter didn't get through."

I take the mentioned object out of my pocket. "You mean this?"

He takes it. "Wow. That's…old."

"It's from over a hundred years in the future, John, of course it's old," Sherlock scolds.

John grins some more. "Almost forgot how much of a condescending git you can be." He moves out of the doorway. "Come in. The Doctor's…somewhere. Don't know, really. Told me he was trying to improve the electricity content or something."

"You said he's been going a little nutty, right?" I ask, remembering the letter.

John doesn't laugh, but nods. "A first he was okay, but then things got…weird."

"Define 'weird'," I say.

"He started dressing odd and answering every question I asked with 'elementary'," he explains. "Absolutely insane."

We walk inside, ad Sherlock inspects the flat.

"Not much difference," he comments. "Even the wallpaper's similar."

"It was a wreck a month ago," John notes. "Looked different before that."

"What happened?" I ask.

"The Doctor."

Of course. "Do you know if he's in the building?" I ask.

The doctor shrugs. "After you didn't show up he receded into his little quiet space upstairs, but sometimes he'll just disappear. Bloody annoying, trying to find him. I once spotted him climbing out of the sewers."

I smile. "That's the Doctor for you." I look over to the stair leading upstairs. "You two stay and catch up, I'm going to see if he's there."

I leave them behind and scale the old wooden stairs that creak under my feet. I reach the top to see the door painted with the words 'NO HUMANS ALLOWED', because as we all know the Doctor is an eight year old child.

I knock on the door.

"Busy!" the voice I haven't heard in what feels like centuries answers.

I sigh and knock again.

"I said I'm busy!" the Doctor repeats.

"Can I come in?" I ask, reverting back to the English accent and deciding to have fun with this.

"Are you a homo sapien?" he asks.

"Yes," I answer.

"Read the sign."

I shake my head and open the door to find the Doctor with his eyes closed with a pipe in his mouth that's expelling bubbles. He wears generally what's always worn, except he's changed to the army coat instead of the tweed and he has a deerstalker hat.

Oh, and he's upside down against the wall.

"I told you to leave, I am in a very bad mood," he says. He still doesn't open his eyes.

"Is that so?" I ask. "And why is that?"

"I've…lost someone," he admits. "Now leave."

"Oi!" I say, and revert back to my real voice. "Very rude to say, especially to someone who puts up with your moods like I do."

He frowns, which looks like a smile from my angle, and opens his eyes.

"Quigs?" he asks.

I smirk. "It's been a month; you can stop calling me that."

He grins. "Never." And with that he flips off the wall, standing up with his back to me. He turns around and puts his arms out.

"Doctor, I know you want to get all hugtastic and shit," I comment. "But…what the hell are you wearing?"

He tugs on the deerstalker. "Found it in a flea market. Deerstalkers are cool."

"And the pipe?" I ask.

"Found it in my pocket," he answers. "Thought it added personality."

I snort. "As if you don't already have that."

He takes the pipe out of his mouth. "Oi, it is a _very nice_ pipe. Don't downgrade the pipe."

"I'll do as I please."

"Pipes are _cool_."

And with that I hug him, because he's proof that I haven't screwed everything up and the Silence were wrong and even though I hate to admit it I missed the lunatic.

I smile sadly. "I thought you'd abandoned me."

"Well I thought the same," he replies. "But it seems we didn't."

"You gave me a huge scare, though," I say, and we break apart.

He tugs on his coat. "Well, Weeping Angels. Nasty creatures."

_You don't even know the half of it_, I think silently, but continue smiling. "So how's 1896?"

"Dreadful," he says. "Nothing to do! All you lot have are…carriages and ladies in big skirts. Dull." He points at me. "Though, I did visit Vastra and her friend and got a lovely cup of tea."

"So you're okay?" I ask.

"Of course I'm okay, I'm the king of okay!" the Doctor reassures. "Well, not exactly. Rubbish title, did you know there's an actual of the planet OK? Haven't been there yet, should go sometime…why are you asking?"

"John said you were going a little…uh…" I twirl my finger next to my head.

His eyes widen. "Oh, yes. Well, 1896 is boring enough to drive anyone made, even though I wasn't mad at all. Just a little frustrated."

"To be fair, when you're frustrated you do go slightly more insane than usual," I point out.

He scowls. "I do not."

I nod. "Oh yes you do."

"Well how would you know?" he asks immaturely.

I raise an eyebrow and wave. "Hi," I say with pleasant sarcasm. "I'm Jenna Quigley. I come from another dimension where you're whole life is viewed for millions."

He hesitates. "No need to be snide."

"I'm always snide, your memory's going faulty," I say. I remember something and take the little pocket guide out of my pocket. "By the way, I believe this is yours. I wouldn't let River see it."

He takes it, observing what it is and blushing. "Study guide."

"Oh really?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"Okay, cheat sheet," he mumbles. "The driver's test was much more difficult than flying the TARDIS itself."

"Like I said before," I repeat. "Let's not have River see it."

He nods. "Agreed," he says is an exhale.

"John and Sherlock are probably waiting downstairs for us," I say. "And as you said before, 1896 is dull."

He nods and we go downstairs to find Sherlock sitting with a cup of tea and John writing in a small journal.

It looks like this is an average, every day thing for them.

"You guys look….peaceful," I resolve to saying.

Sherlock looks up, sees the Doctor's hat and groans. "Dear God, that thing will haunt me the rest of my life."

John looks to me. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not, trust me. It's just that, take away the whole Victorian setting, you guys look like you're having an average day."

"John's writing, this is 221b Baker Street, and I'm bored," Sherlock lists. "It's no different than any other day."

Well, that sums it up quite nicely.

"We should probably go," the Doctor says. "The longer we stay here the more time goes more wibbley than usual."

We all nod in agreement. John gathers up a couple things, like the journal and a few trinkets. The landlady waves us off, thinking we're going down to the market to get some medicine.

"Seems cruel just to leave here like that," John comments.

"Ah, it'll just be another missing person's case lost to the ages," the Doctor dismisses. "Lots of people go missing because of time."

"Besides, you're going back to the 21st century," I add. "iPhones, computers, Internet, Siri…"

"What's Siri?" John asks.

I frown before understanding. "Oh yeah. 2011. Don't worry; you'll like it a lot."

"So you're from the future?" John asks.

"To be fair, John, we are all from the future at this point," Sherlock says.

"Still…the future, really? What's it like?"

I smirk. "I'm not that far ahead," I say. "Only about a year or so. Last time I wasn't jumping around the universe was in September of 2012."

"Seems like an eventful year," Sherlock somments.

The Doctor shrugs. "Not much. It's like any other year. Natural disasters, new inventions or cell phones for people to use. Elections, political scandals." I swear he glances over to Sherlock, but it's so fast I can't tell. "Famous people dying, tabloids having their parties with celebrities. It's just the same."

"Every year's the same to you," I point out.

"Well I have existed for 943 of them," he reminds me. "After the first 500 years they sort of blend together to a mixture of the same events. People, though, that's what sticks out the most."

"So how do you keep track of your age?" I ask him as we cross the street. The TARDIS is only a little ways away.

"I don't," he admits. "The TARDIS does. Notifies me and that's that."

"Have you never had a birthday party?" I ask.

"That's an Earth tradition, though the idea of having a whole cake to myself is very tempting. And presents, I love presents."

I laugh. "Of course you do."

We arrive at the TARDIS and the doors open with ease.

"Hello, old girl," the Doctor says. "Did you miss me?"

The room hums.

"Thought so," he answers with a smug smile. "Two months, dear, is too long. Oh, and you've got something!"

We walk inside, and the Doctor runs up to the console, staring at the small black box encased in a web of electricity.

"You said you figured out what it is," I remind him. "So what is it?"

"Oh!" Sherlock exclaims, and he's got his 'it's-so-obvious-how-could-I-not-have-seen-it-before' look on. "Of course."

The Doctor grins smugly. "Knew you'd figure it out sometime."

"So obvious," Sherlock says, shaking his head and grimacing at himself.

"Yes, so obvious we just couldn't see it right away," the Doctor says. "It's basic children's logic. Hidden in plain sight."

Sherlock runs up to the console, joining the Doctor in peering over the mysterious object. "Highly improbable…"

"…but not impossible."

"Still, can you imagine the potential?"

"There was a reason the angels were after it. If they had gotten a hold of it-"

"—they would've easily taken over the universe, with their power. Dear god, how could I have not known?"

"You're only human," the Doctor shrugs. "If anybody should be feeling idiotic, it should be me. I'm a Time Lord, yet I didn't see this happening! I see everything!"

"As do I, but—dear god, this is embarrassing."

John and I glance over to each other, obviously confused about what they're talking about.

"Uh, hi?" I ask, waving. "Care to explain to the ones who aren't an alien or a super-genius?"

The Doctor turns around. "Hm? Oh, yes. Sorry." He points to the box. "You see this? This is a container, made out of the rocks found on Hansfield Supernova. Strongest material there is, rumored to even stop _time_ from passing through it." He grins like a giddy little kid. "Seems the rumors are true."

I quirk an eyebrow, still not getting it.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Surely you can't be so thick to figure it out."

"We're not all rocket scientists, Sherlock," John says.

"And I can barely pass 10th grade biology class, you think I can figure this out?" I add.

The Doctor's grinning and peering over the cube. "Oh, I heard it was possible but I never thought in all my years I would _witness_ it." He pauses, frowning. "Then again, it could mean that time itself is slowly deteriorating, but that's just a theory."

"Spaceman!" I call out, pulling the Doctor out of his fascination. "Sorry to go all Donna on you, but you still haven't said what's inside."

"Why don't you find out?" he asks. He twitches his fingers, beckoning me over. I walk over as he plucks the cube from the desk, unaffected as the cage disappears with a small _zap!_ He holds it out in front of himself. "Touch it."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because that'll open it," he explains.

"You said not to open it before," I remind him.

"Opening something of this power in a simple London flat, though an intriguing idea, would be impractical," Sherlock offers. John blinks and looks up at him in disbelief.

The Doctor lessens his grin to a gentle smile. "Open it."

I look down at the black box. "Why me?"

"This is an anomaly," he tells me in just above a whisper. "As are you. Two completely unusual things in a place they've been before. Things with similar interests usually connect pretty well."

I open my mouth to speak, but my mind draws a blank at what to say. Obediently, I lay a finger on the box.

Something glows from underneath my finger. It's dark and electric, travelling up and around the cube and cracking the black shell open, snaking the corners until the cover completely shatters apart. I pull my hand back at the…_whatever_…that was just inside and stare at it.

It is absolutely amazing.

It's small, about an inch or two in diameter. It's like a small storm cloud, all misty and sparking with lightning and just _life_. It changes from gray to purple to orange to blue to gray again. It could be mistaken for a small planet, but I recognize the colors, and the sparking energy.

"A chunk of the Time Vortex," the Doctor explains.

"It's beautiful," I comment, looking at it as it floats above the black square that was the bottom of the cube. "How can this happen? I mean, shouldn't realit be ripping apart at something like this?"

The Doctor's face darkens slightly. "It should. But it isn't, for something reason, or it doesn't look like it is."

"The Time Vortex?" John asks.

The Doctor turns to him. "Lightning-y tornado that contains all of space and time. Changes colors, very pretty. Don't want to get stuck in it, you'll get ripped apart and your molecules will scatter across centuries and planets." He wiggles his free hand's fingers in the air for emphasis.

"No wonder the angels were after it," I marvel. "It's pure time energy."

"It is," Sherlock says. "Which makes it even more curious that it isn't doing what it's created to do and not ripping apart the universe to get back to where it belongs."

The Doctor looks at the anomaly before glancing briefly at me. "I have four ideas."

"Really? I have three," Sherlock says with a smirk.

The Doctor frowns. "Oh, leave it. We should probably get this little thing back to where it belongs."

"And how do you propose to do that?" John asks. "Like you said, get caught out in…whatever that thing comes from and you're _obliterated_."

The Doctor grins. "Simple. The chute."

I frown. "Chute? Like…laundry chute or…?"

"Mostly for rubbish," the Doctor says. "You don't think the TARDIS cleans herself, do you? Nah, she's got to put it somewhere."

"So you scatter your trash across space and time?" I guess, raising an eyebrow.

He stops his smiling and does a double-take at me. "Stop giving me that look, it's not like I'm littering or anything!"

I smirk. "Sure."

He shakes his head. "Anyway, let's take care of this before this thing starts acting like it's supposed to, shall we? Now, it'll be a little difficult to steer the TARDIS with one hand, might be a bit of a bumpy ride…" He twists a few knobs and the room starts jostling violently.

Sherlock runs up and quickly pulls down a lever, making the shaking cease.

The Doctor turns around and glances. "Did you lot touch anything?"

We all innocently shake our heads.

He squints his eyes before continuing. "Okay, maybe not so bumpy. However, we're not right in the vortex yet. Got to get back the 1910s, that's a difficult decade. Paradoxes everywhere, I tell you. Trying to stop a war or an assassination of some sort. Anyway, this will be quite an energy drain, slightly deadly if it goes wrong." He pulls down two levers at once and the console room dims.

Sherlock maneuvers a couple things and the room brightens up again. The Doctor frowns at Sherlock and swats his hands away.

"Oi, don't touch anything! Might make a whole century disappear," he chastises.

Sherlock smirks, but backs away.

"Now, Quigs, if you could just turn the yellow dial to 45 and a third," the Doctor orders.

I turn the knob, deciding to ignore the nickname for the sake of reunion. Still hate it, though. Just sounds wrong.

A small cylinder erupts from just below the console, twisting and opening to an empty space.

The Doctor pats the console. "Thank you, dear. Now!" He hops over, chunk of the vortex in hand. "Time to say goodbye."

He places the electrified ball of Time Energy in the horizontal cylinder carefully, twisting the device so that it closes.

He presses a button and there's a sucking sound, then nothing.

"There," he says. "Taken care of."

I frown. "Huh."

He looks at me. "What?"

I shrug. "Nothing. Just a little…anticlimactic, I suppose."

The Doctor gapes. "What?"

"Dull," Sherlock adds. "Added up to nothing."

"Well what did you expect?" he asks. "An explosion, or some sort of twist? One of you lot being a Dalek?"

"Could've at least had a bit more instances of danger," I say.

His mouth doesn't shut and turns away. "Humans," he mutters. "Can never please them, can I?"

I laugh a little at that.

"So are we going home now?" John asks.

"In a little bit," the Doctor says. "Got to let the TARDIS reenergize, it was just barely holding itself together to keep that thing piece of the vortex contained."

I sigh. "I'm going to go grab my laptop," I announce. "Do you know where it was last?"

"Am I your maid?" he asks, kneeling and prying open a bit of the console. Wires spill out.

I look at him.

"Under the chair," he murmurs.

I do a small mock curtsy. "Thank you, govn'a," I say, faking an accent.

The Doctor smiles a little at that. "Need to work on that accent," he comments.

I can't help but grin and kick him slightly before going over to the chair and retrieving the square, black device. God, I love it when it's like this; all playful and peaceful without any secrets or problems to hide.

I open the laptop and begin surfing the net when I hear voices behind me, just next to the stairs.

It's quiet for a moment after I recognize the small sounds of the two extra passengers talking, and then they resume a conversation. Not the one from previous, something completely different. They've changed topic.

"You've been smoking," John points out.

"No I haven't," Sherlock denies, like a child.

"Yes, you have, I can smell the tobacco on you," John says.

There's a pause. "It was only one."

And then a sigh. "Sherlock, you can't just go back to things like that."

"I'm a grown man; I can go back to whatever I want."

"If you really think that you're a bloody idiot," John mutters.

"Why do you care so much?" Sherlock asks snidely.

"Well, I don't know about you but I'd rather not have you go and give yourself lung cancer," John snaps.

It's quiet for a couple moments before someone speaks, and it's almost too quiet to hear. "Thank you."

"For what?" John asks.

"For caring so much," Sherlock answers.

I smile to myself, happy at the reunion.

"Isn't it considered rude on Earth to eavesdrop?" someone asks from behind me.

I jump, looking at the Doctor, who's still got the bubble pipe but has lost the deerstalker. He's grinning.

"Oh, look who's talking," I snap, returning back to my laptop.

"So did you tell our dear friend Mr. Holmes anything?" the Doctor asks.

I blink, confused. He can't know…he would've said otherwise if he did.

"Pardon?" I ask, voice almost squeaky.

"About your current situation regarding-" He gestures his hands everywhere. "—here."

The concept of 'here' is very interesting, let me tell you that. Keeps changing.

I shake my head, relieved. "Oh, no. Sherlock came close though. Guessed I was from another planet."

"And how'd you answer to that?"

I shrug. "I was indifferent. Doesn't know the wiser."

The Doctor nods, pleased with the answer.

I go through a couple more lines of the article I'm reading when John and Sherlock reappear up the stairs.

"So how much longer?" John asks.

The Doctor keeps the pipe balanced between his teeth as he connects two wires, making sparks fly. "Only about fifteen minutes, more or less."

I look over to the duo. "He means a half an hour."

"Oi!" the Doctor exclaims, standing up and taking the pipe out. "I do not!"

I raise an eyebrow. "Amelia Pond and the 'five minutes'."

He pauses. "That was intentional, you know that."

I smirk. "You once did a day's worth of chores within an hour. Let's face the fact that your sense of time is off."

"When did I do that?" the Doctor asks.

I laugh. "You know, when-" I stop myself. "Oh. Never mind. Future-y things."

"Oh really?" the Doctor asks.

"Cubes, hearts, the chicken dance song…no need to worry."

The Doctor grimaces. "Hate that song. Completely ignorant of the intelligence chicken harbor and actually quite offensive in their language."

John points at the both of us until he stops at me. "You're…from his future?"

"Sort of," I say, trying to look disinterested.

"And from the Earth's future?" he continues.

I shrug. "Partially."

"And our future?" he asks.

I tip my hand back in forth in the universal gesture of 'so-so'.

He blinks. "I'm confused again."

Sherlock squints. "As am I. You never answered my question."

I look up. "To be fair, there have been a lot of questions today. I can't keep track of them all."

"About how you know so much," he evaluates.

I gulp. "I said it was complicated."

"That is not an answer."

I glance over to the Doctor. "Should I?" I ask.

He looks over the three of us. "They're not going to like it," he tells me. "But they do deserve to know."

I sigh. "Easy way or the hard way?"

"Quickest way, it was horribly dreadful for you to drag it out for me," he says, going back to the wires underneath the console.

I grimace. "Hard way it is, then."

"What are you talking about?" John asks.

I look at the both of them before opening YouTube and typing a couple words into the search bar. "Want to know how I know so much?"

"Yes," Sherlock seethes.

I fnd the correct video, the first series' promo, and hand it to them. "Watch this. Oh, and sit down, you'll want to."

Sherlock grabs the laptop and, being who he is, continues to stand up. "I have already gone through all of the possible solutions in my head, I do not need to _sit down_."

I smirk as he presses play.

**#**

He sits down halfway through.

"Betcha didn't think of that one, did you?" I ask, taking the laptop from his hands and watching as they both stare ahead, speechless.

I find myself harboring a great sense of pride for making Sherlock Holmes shut up on the first day of knowing him.

"Fascinating," Sherlock says under his breath. He and John are sitting against the rails with the laptop to the side. When it started playing they looked at me skeptically, and then the titles started playing and they slowly sunk to the floor.

I laugh once. "Ain't it?" I ask.

John points to the screen. "But…but that isn't possible."

I shrug. "Where I come from it is."

Sherlock frowns. "How, exactly?"

I look over to the Doctor. "Could you explain? You're better at it."

"Huh?" the Doctor asks, reemerging from the web of wires. "Oh, yes. Jenna's from a parallel dimension and we all are apparently television characters." He goes back to fixing up the TARDIS.

"So you're okay with that?" John asks. "You're whole bloody existence has been flipped around, how can you be okay with that?"

"He's seen weirder," I say. "And will see weirder. Besides, I've been here a month. Plenty of recovery time."

"So…what? Do we not actually exist or…?"

"Don't be dull," Sherlock says. "We obviously are real." He frowns. "I think. It's getting foggy now."

"No no no!" I say in reassurance. "You guys exist. Just…not where I'm from."

"Then how'd we get to be on the television?" Sherlock asks. "If we don't exist, then we shouldn't even be pieces of fiction."

I shift a little before standing up. "Well…you don't exist in bodily form. You're both more of…ideas, characters. Pretty famous ones, too." I pause, trying to gather more to say. "You see, there are these…things. Tears or rips in reality, I guess. I don't really know, the Doctor does…" I look back to the alien, who's attempting to quell the patch of tweed that is currently smoking. "…but he's budy at the moment. Anyway, they sort of continuously flow aspects of one dimension or universe into another. Essences, little blips. And sometimes that's where ideas come from for books, music, movies, and obviously television shows."

I pause, checking to see if they're both understanding.

"Okay…" John says, frowning.

I nod. "Yep. So you guys are characters, or at least one version of the characters of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes." I shake my head. "No, that sounds confusing. Um…you started out as book characters. And everything was pretty much the same. Same people, roughly the same adventures…except it was all in Victorian England. And you guys had mustaches, and Molly wasn't there—it sounds crazy but yeah. And those got really famous, and there was a bunch of movie and television adaptations. The most recent was you guys and this movie with Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr. But I'm babbling, aren't I?"

"Yes," Sherlock says.

"So we still exist…that's good," John says.

I grin. "Always nice to know."

"Was this an episode?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Nope. I believe this is in between 'The Hounds of Baskerville' and The Reich—the season finale."

"You were about to say something else," Sherlock points out.

"You heard wrong," I wave away, trying to quickly to change the subject. I turn to the Doctor. "Are we ready to go?"

The Doctor stands up, brushing himself off and closing the panel underneath the console dashboard. "Yep! 221b Baker Street say, the morning after all of this happened? Angels will be gone by then, back to where they were originally."

"We have to tell Lestrade about them, think about how many cold cases that could be solved," John says.

"Unless you want to get locked up I suggest that you don't," I say with a sad smile. "Think about, storming into the office and saying 'statues are kidnapping people'."

John jabs his finger over to Sherlock. "He's said worse."

Sherlock frowns. "Like what?"

"You once said that the dolphins at the zoo were the ones making people disappear!" he defends.

"Ravenous aquatic animals fit the profile perfectly and you know it."

I sigh. "Well, seeing as things are back to normal here I say we get back as soon as possible, shouldn't we?"

The Doctor pulls the big lever down and the room echoes with the engine turning. It rocks a little but not as much as before until a resounding 'thud' enters my ears.

"So we're just going to go back to normal now," John states. "Or as normal as anything can be, really."

I nod. "Pretty much, yeah. To be fair, you've got some major stuff coming up the road so you have to dwell on this too long."

"Mrs. Hudson's probably going to ask about this," he points out, gesturing to the nineteenth century garb he has on.

I laugh. "Just say it was for the case. Or run as fast as you can and burn the evidence, which works as well."

"Not all the time," Sherlock mutters. We walk up to the TARDIS doors and open them to find the black door with the title '221b' printed on it gold. I smile.

"Better get back before anybody notices you two were gone," the Doctor suggests.

"Home sweet home," John mutters. He turns back to us. "Er…thanks. For everything."

The Doctor waves the gratitude away, smiling. "It wasn't a problem. Except for almost getting kicked out of Buckingham Palace by Vicky, that was borderline catastrophic."

John shrugs. "Still. So…see you lot later, then?"

"Possibly," I say. "You never know."

Sherlock, who's already unlocking the door, waves John over. "Come along, John. Enough sentimentality, Lestrade's left me about thirty text messages."

"At least say goodbye, Sherlock," John says.

Sherlock, who's been typing away on his phone, looks up and waves. "Goodbye. We'll surely see you again, sometime. Now come on and get changed, Lestrade's actually found an interesting case. Painting of Reichenbach Falls disappeared out of thin air, room was under heavy surveillance."

My smile falls and my elated feeling sinks into dread.

John nods and turns back to us. "Well, again, thanks for everything…Jenna, are you alright?"

"Uh, yeah," I stammer. "Yeah, fine. Just go—go on ahead, then. Have fun." I force a smile.

He smiles back and goes inside 221b, disappearing behind the door with Sherlock.

"Jenna," the Doctor says, looking over to me. "What's wrong?"

I look down. "It's a bitch to know more than somebody else sometimes."

"I completely agree," he says. "Minus the language, of course. Still need to work on that."

I kick him slightly with my foot. "Oh shut up." I look up and him and take the pipe. "And throw this away, you look ridiculous."

"I look _cool_," he defends. "Like some sort of…brilliant person. Brilliant people usually have a pipe. Or glasses. Maybe I should pull out the old brainy specs, those would make me look brilliant."

I pat him on the shoulder. "Sure. Later, though. I've got an idea about where to go next."

"Oh, and where would that be?" the Doctor asks.

"Doctor," I say, "how long has it been since you saw River Song?"

**#**

**Next episode/segment thing to feature River! FUCK YES.**

**I'm so sorry this took so long, but the play and school and everything got in the way.**

**If you guys have any ideas for what I should do in future segments, I would love to hear them. This next episode, and all the ones with River, will correspond with the unseen adventures she had with the Doctor. So…yeah.**

**I love reviews. Reviews are cool.**

**Until next time, lovelies!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	19. Interlude the Second

**Hello, lovelies! Hope you like this one!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

Huh, it seems like we're catching up now. I didn't expect that to happen, but maybe this is a good thing. Don't want to just suddenly disappear mid-story, do I? That would be rude, and I am rude but not that kind of rude. Not the 'leave-you-hanging' rude, no. Just the 'tease-and-cuss-and-generally-don't-listen-to-you' rude.

Really, this only happened a couple weeks ago. Or years, really. But that's a whole different matter altogether and I'd hate to spoil you.

Which brings us to the topic of River Song.

"This is a bad idea. This is a really, really bad idea."

I lean against the console, smirking. "Yet you're the one driving."

"Don't you want to take a break? Or go get some food?" the Doctor asks.

"TARDIS kitchen," I remind him in a sing-song voice. "And we just took one, four hours long, I believe. I'm pretty sure we're set."

"You're not tired?" he asks.

I pause, and then shake my head. "Hm…nope."

"You have been awake for nearly twenty-four hours," he points out.

"I took a nap," I tell him. I stretch my arms out. "Now I'm reenergized. So let's get a move on to Stormcage before I take the deerstalker and put it in the chute."

"You already broke the pipe in half, what do you have against my choices of clothing?" he asks.

I smile. "Nothing. It's just _really_ easy and _really_ fun to do it."

"And how would you feel if I started teasing you about your…denim shorts and trainers and purple hat."

I tug the special article of clothing down on my ears. "The hat's awesome, you can't diss the hat."

"Or that t-shirt," he adds. "Wasn't Queen popular in the 1970s?"

"It was in the wardrobe," I defend. "And everybody knows and loves 'Bohemian Rhapsody'." I cross my arms.

"I don't," he says, tugging on the lapels of his army coat.

I gape. "You've never heard 'Bohemian Rhapsody'?" I ask. "Well, that explains a lot."

"Oi!" he says. He turns back to console. "Well, you—you…your knees look funny."

I dramatically put a hand over my heart. "Oh, Doctor, I am _wounded_. That one, that really punctured the soul, I tell you. I may never recover."

He shakes his head. "Teenagers."

"Can we go see River now?" I ask.

"Why do you want to see all these companions? Sarah Jane, River…what's next, Tegan?" he asks.

"They're cool," I say. "Let's face it; it isn't all sunshine and rainbows to travel with you. Not to compliment myself, but you've got to be pretty damn strong to get through all the death and almost fatal experiences."

"Can't we visit River some other time? Maybe twenty years or so?" he asks.

I raise an eyebrow. "Did something happen between you guys?"

He rubs his hands together nervously. "No…well, you know. Last time I saw her I left in a hospital after that whole instance in Germany."

"Well if you drive right we won't get a version like that, all pissed and stuff," I remind him.

"It doesn't _matter_ which version I get of her," he says. "No matter what she's last seen of me, I'll always see that last image of her."

I stand up and put a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "Doctor, I'm going to tell you something very important and I need you to not forget it," I say.

He nods, looking slightly confused and a bit worried. "Okay."

I look at him dead in the eye, which is a little hard since he's got at least five inches on me, and take a deep breath.

"Man the hell up and get over it."

He shoves my hand off and takes a step back. "What?"

"You heard me." I say. "Don't mope around, appreciate the fact that River's here while you've still got her. You've been able to get over seeing her after the Library, you can get over this."

"But-"

"No buts!" I say. "We are going to Stormcage, we are picking up River Song, and that is the end of that."

"You are not my mother," the Doctor grumbles.

"When you're acting like a toddler I have every right to act like your mother," I retort. "And if you're not going to steer the TARDIS, then I am."

I start walking towards the opposite end of the controls and spin an object with the tip of my finger, sending it whirling. The Doctor runs up and swats my hands away, stopping the spinning object.

"You could destroy an entire solar system, do you realize that?" he asks.

I cross my arms over my chest. "Take me to see River Song and stop acting like a kid."

"_You're_ the one acting like a kid, throwing a tantrum over seeing her!" he says, tossing his hands into the air. "What's so special about seeing her?"

"She's _River Song_," I insist. "She's done a lot of badass things, trust me. Or will do. Has done, is doing…you get the point. Tenses are horrible things." I wave the tirade away. "Besides, you need to get over your guilt."

"Fine," the Doctor says. "Fine!" He turns a couple dials. "I don't see the importance in this."

"You and River go on adventures in the future," I say. "If you don't grow a pair then it never happens, and the timeline goes wonky."

"What adventures, exactly?" he asks wryly.

I shrug. "I only know of a couple. Easter Island…Jim the Fish…"

He looks to me. "What is with everyone and 'Jim the Fish'?"

I smirk. "You'll find out sooner or later."

"You lot always have to be so vague, don't you?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No, just me. And I have obvious reasons behind that."

He scowls, but I can see the corners of his mouth twitch up in excitement. I watch as he piloting gets slightly more eager, his steps a little more springy. But he tries to keep his face looking bitter, hesitating towards more enthusiastic movements.

I roll my eyes. "Oh, just stop kidding yourself and admit you're excited to see her."

He looks away. "I will admit no such thing."

I step away from the console and look up to the ceiling of the console room. "You know what I think?"

He chuckles slightly and shakes his head. "What?"

"I think you're actually _very_ excited to see River. Maybe almost…eager."

He does his little Doctor-blush thing and works faster. "I am not! I have no time for those humany things."

I laugh. "Sure," I drawl. I sit down on the chair, picking up my sketchbook and turning to a fresh slice of paper. I tap my pencil eraser on the corner of my mouth for a couple moments. "What should I draw?"

"I don't know, hearts or something you women usually draw in your school notebooks?" the Doctor asks.

I laugh at that. "Sure, when I go back to being six."

He shrugs, pushing a lever upwards. "Draw whatever comes to mind."

That's the problem, though. My mind is a blank slate. I groan and drop and book and the pencil onto my lap. "Never mind, then."

The Doctor glances at me. "Why are you drawing, anyways? I haven't seen you look twice at that book since you first came aboard."

"That's the problem," I say, still looking at the 80 sheet booklet that's currently mocking me. "I haven't had any inspiration for the past month! It's…frustrating."

The Doctor glances at me again. "They're interesting drawings."

I frown, hugging the sketchbook close. "Have you been looking?"

"I was curious."

"Doctor! There are spoilers in here, don't go looking through my personal stuff!"

"You had it laying out on the chair," he points out. "Besides, how I reist? I love thing lying around. They're very interesting things. Besides, I didn't get too far."

"How far did you get?" I ask, eyeing him.

He turns to me. "Humans being able to manipulate the elements is a fantastically ludicrous idea."

I snort. "Says the alien with the time-travelling phone booth."

"No, no! It wasn't an insult. I think it'd be brilliant being able to go around places on that little ball of air like those…um…what are they again?"

I laugh, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Airbenders."

"Yes, like those airbenders do! Zooming about on those things, that would be amazing!"

"But it can't happen?" I finish, because I know that sentenced wasn't done yet.

"Well," he says, cocking his head to the side. I suddenly get a bit of Ten nostalgia and try not to giggle. "It's possible, just very highly improbable. Telepathy is a feat to accomplish in itself, but being able to manipulate the basic elements around you is even more tricky."

I laugh. "Well, who knows? Somewhere out there, in a place parallel to hear, there's a dimension or universe or whatever where people can manipulate the elements."

"Oh, now you're the one making fun of me," he says, but I can hear the smile in his voice as he turns back to the controls. "Whoops, speed bump."

The TARDIS jumps a little and I grip onto the seat. "Speed bump? It's the Time Vortex, not a suburban neighborhood."

"Particularly nasty year to get by," the Doctor says with a grimace. "Somewhere in the late 1930s, always difficult to get past."

"So are we close? To Stormcage, I mean?"

"Just got to…turn this…" the Doctor says distractedly. "Aha! Yes." The thud erupts around the room. "Now we're here."

"Awesome," I say, standing up. "Okay, let's go get your girlfriend."

The Doctor blushes again. "Jenna! Sh-She is not my girlfriend!"

I turn to look at him. "Do you care for her?"

"I—well, yes! Of course, I care for everybody."

"If you saw her travelling with some other Time Lord, how would you feel?"

He tugs on the lapels of his coat. "I'm the only other Time Lord, so that question doesn't matter."

I smirk. "Well played. But avoiding the question."

His proud demeanor deflates. "I would not feel…pleased, I guess. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"One more question, and you can't lie because I already know the answer."

He gives the look that speaks the unspoken statement of 'then why are you asking?'

"Have you two snogged?" I ask.

He blushes even deeper and sputters. "Well erm…well I, uh…that is _none_ of your business!"

I smile, feeling accomplished. "Come on. Your girlfriend's waiting for us and you're the one who knows the way."

He doesn't dignify himself with a response this time.

I'm all smiles as I follow him through the dismal and quite dreary hallways of Stormcage. I mean, I'm meeting _River Song_. The girl was badass even when she was a kid. You've got to respect that.

I've promised myself not to freak out. Of course, by promise I mean very weakly upheld guideline.

We've landed at the end of her hallway, so we've got to get past some of the guards, which are little difficult thanks to the 'Most Wanted' poster on the wall adorning the Doctor's face.

"Wanted for breaking and entering, taking part in the escape of prisoner 506 (River Song), and…_indecency_?" the Doctor reads aloud in a whisper. "When have I ever been 'indecent'?"

"Not in the past, but most likely in the future," I say, trying not to laugh as I see the Doctor get uncomfortable. I tug on his arm. "Come on." I start dragging him along as he continues to berate the poster.

"I would expect something like treason or parking tickets, but _indecency!_"

"Shhh!" I hush. "Guards will hear you. Now come on."

He keeps muttering about and I keep smiling, because really if you're in a relationship with River Song there's_ nothing_ decent about it. Catch up, Doctor.

"Still can't believe…when would I do something like that?" he asks, all flustered.

"Oh, get over it," I say. "Nothing you need to worry about now, okay? So let's get moving and get River."

He looks at me stubbornly for a moment before shaking his head and smiling. "Alright, fine. But _indecency-_"

"Doctor," I warn, raising an eyebrow. It shuts him up.

I realize were getting closer as he picks up the pace, getting a little more skip in his step as we turn the corner of the rounded hallways of Stormcage. The thunder crashes down from outside. Jesus, it rains more here than it did back home.

We come across the figure of a lone River Song in her cell, back towards us and curled up snuggly on the unsightly mattress and reading one her diary entries. I stay back to keep watch as the Doctor strides forward.

"River Song!" the Doctor calls out.

"Sorry, warden," River sighs distractedly, flipping to another page in her diary. "I'll tell you as I told the guards; if you want the key you're going to have to strip search me." I can hear her smirk.

"Wha—River!" the Doctor exclaims. He turns to me. "Is this universal 'Embarrass the Doctor' day? Honestly!"

River turns, obviously seeing the Doctor but not me. She smiles and turns herself to him. "Oh, it's you, sweetie. Come to take me away?"

"Yes, but what was that with the guards and-?" he asks.

River waves it away. "Oh, nothing. Just a game I was playing to keep the newcomers on their toes. It's been dreadfully boring since you last dropped me off." She stands up, setting the diary down and putting her hands on her hips.

"Hm, and how long ago was that?" the Doctor asks. Oh, great. He's on into full-on flirt mode.

"Five months," River says sighing and making herself busy by packing up her things. "Thought you'd forgotten about me."

"How could I forget you?" he asks.

River smirks slyly. "So, where to?"

"Don't know yet," he admits, clapping his hands together. "But I'll surely think of something for us to do."

"Oh, I can think of so much to do with you," River purrs.

I slap my hand to my forehead and run it over my face. Great, now they're going to end up making out in between the cell bar and I'm going to have to pry them apart. Brilliant.

I clear my throat lightly, and the Doctor glances to me, breaking out of the innuendo-laced exchange. "Right. Well, we should get going, yes?"

River frowns. "Is someone over there?" she asks.

He glances at me before pulling out the sonic. "Oh, no one in particular. You'll meet her in just a mo, don't worry. Jenna, could you go open the TARDIS?"

"She doesn't like me, remember?" I remind him.

"Jenna?" River asks, confused and looking a little disturbed. "Who's Jenna?"

"I left it unlocked," the Doctor adds, walking up to the cell's lock.

I peek out from around the corner and wave. "I'm Jenna. Big fan of yours, by the way." I turn to the Doctor. "And I don't care, she locks it anyways."

"Are you still going on about that time with Charles Darwin?" he asks.

"_Yes_," I say. He ignores me and sonics the lock open. "Oh, never mind. Go unlock things for your girlfriend with your stupid screwdriver." I walk away from the scene, heading towards the TARDIS.

"It's not stupid, it's sonic!" I hear the Doctor call back.

"Is that a new companion?" I hear River ask faintly.

"Yes, I'll explain it in the TARDIS, now…" His voice drifts off, sounding vaguely irritated as I turn another corner, heading past the poster and going to the TARDIS.

I grab the handle and I receive a mild shock. "Ow! Hey, sorry, but this is no time for a cat fight, alright? Now open up."

The door stays shut, whether I push it or pull it. "Come on, River's coming. Just open up."

I almost fall to the ground as the doors jerk open. I brush myself off. "Thank you."

I hear the alarms sound off and watch as the Doctor and River scurry through the doors and slam them shut. They push past me and go up the console, fighting playfully over the controls as they pilot us out of here.

"Gave them a real scare, didn't we?" River asks.

"Surely they'd be used to you breaking out, wouldn't they?" he responds, glancing at the screen and pressing a couple buttons.

"Oh, they should. But what's the fun in that?"

He smiles at her, and I feel a wave of 'I told you so' wash over me.

"Not so hesitant to see her now, are you?" I ask.

The Doctor looks at me. "Oh…shut up."

I laugh.

The piloting slows down until it looks like we're safely in the Time Vortex, meandering about. River turns a dial and finally looks at me. "So, you're the Doctor's new companion?"

I shrug. "More or less, yeah."

"American," she comments, sounding slightly surprised. "And a teenager."

"And very pleased to meet you," I add, sticking out my hand. "Jenna Quigley."

She takes it. "River Song. How long have you been travelling with the Doctor?"

"A month," I say. "It's been…unusual."

She smirks. "Being with the Doctor is like that."

"Still fun, though."

"Oh, when isn't it?"

I laugh. "It's really cool to meet you." We start walking up to the console.

"Not a compliment I get very often, thank you. So how did you come to meet the Doctor?"

The Doctor and I exchange a glance. "Uh…it's…"

"…complicated," the Doctor suggests.

I nod. "Yeah, complicated. Full of mismatched things in reality and tortilla chips…"

"Well, I _must_ hear about this sometime," she says. "Sounds interesting."

"Oh, there's a time and a place," the Doctor says offhandedly.

"Not the smartest thing to say in a TARDIS," I comment.

River laughs. "I like this one."

I do a mock curtsy. "Thank you, madam."

She turns to the Doctor. "So what do you have planned?"

"I don't know, where haven't we been yet?" he asks.

River hums. "Well, I don't know about you but somewhere in the tropics sounds nice to me. Could try on that new bathing suit I got." She leans toward him, and I see him go bug-eyed.

"I thought you said you haven't seen me for five months?" is all he can say about that.

River smirks. "I go on adventures by myself, sweetie, I don't always rely on you for a ride."

"Then stop treating me like a cabbie," he says playfully.

River leans in closer. "Make me."

"Maybe I will…"

"Alright!" I yell, cutting through the tension. They're inches away from each other. "Guys, it's all fine with me, but if you're going to jump each other on the console make sure the kid's out of the room, okay? Okay."

The Doctor flushes. "No, Jenna, that's not-"

I hold my hands up in mock salute. "No, no. I get it. Just let me grab my laptop and leave the room." I snatch the device and nudge the Doctor in his side. "Go get 'em, tiger." I walk straight up to the stairs and don't look back, disappearing into the hallway.

"Oh, I _really_ like that one," River comments.

The Doctor sputters. "I—Jenna, we weren't…get your mind out of the gutter! We are not going to-"

Obviously, River's found a way to shut him up.

**#**

**Here you go! Interlude #2, brought to you by your truly.**

**I would like to thank the user 'Random Citizen' for the multitude of reviews left for this story, and everybody who's reviewed in general.**

**Sherlock's been moved to premiere sometime around or after Christmas, so I'm sad. But the Doctor Who Christmas special is in a couple weeks, so all's good there!**

**I hope you found this satisfactory. If not, feel free to tell me in the reviews.**

**Up next, Easter Island!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	20. The Malihini, Part 1

**Man, I got a lot of reviews for that last chapter! Thank you, guys!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

I return a good twenty minutes later to find a rather ruffled looking Doctor hurriedly fiddling underneath the console and a smirking River Song leaning against the rails with her arms crossed.

"You kids having fun?" I ask, trotting down the stairs.

River laughs. "Oh, the _best_."

The fiddling stops for a moment before resuming again. "I have nothing to say on the matter."

"Of course you don't," I say, sighing.

River looks over to me. "So how old are you, Jenna?"

"Fifteen," I answer. "Though, that's a rough estimation. Last time I checked it was three months to my birthday and I've been on here for God knows how long."

"Forty-five days, thirteen hours and…twenty-seven minutes," the Doctor informs me.

I gape. "You knew?"

"I'm a Time Lord, I know everything."

"No, you don't," I fire back.

He pushes himself away from the underbelly of the console on the small cart he's using. "Well I know a lot more than you."

I shrug. "In some areas, yeah."

"Oh…stop acting all smart." He drags himself back under the console.

I shake my head. "So…where are you, exactly? In your timeline?"

"Doctor, I didn't know you told your companions about me," River jokes, smiling.

I play along with it. "Oh yeah, he won't shut up about you. 'River' this, and 'River' that. I swear he-"

"Are you two going to gaggle about like hens all day?" the Doctor asks.

"We're just kidding around," I say. I turn back to River. "So…timeline?"

"Last time I saw him we went fishing over in the Yukon Galaxy," he answers.

I frown. "Fishing? Doesn't really seem…Doctor-y."

River considers this, nodding her head briefly to the side. "Well, the fish there do glow in the dark and are covered in teeth."

I smile. "Ah, okay. There you go. Had me worried there that he'd gone domestic."

"The Doctor being domestic?" River laughs. "I think the Universe would rip apart before that happened."

"To be fair, it has already once before," I remind her.

She frowns. "It has?"

I pause. "Oh yeah. Is it too late to say 'spoilers'?"

"Possibly," River says, shrugging it off. "Gives me something to look forward to, I can tell you that."

I laugh. "Oh, it's a doozy, trust me."

"You were there?" she asks.

I sputter. "I…well, no…but-"

"It's complicated?" River finishes.

"Yeah. That word's getting old."

River laughs. "Don't I know it?" She turns to the Doctor. "So, sweetie, want to sync diaries?"

"Sorry," he says, "I'm a little busy rewiring the ripple capacitor, got to do everything precisely or Luxembourg takes over America in the 19th century."

River peers in. "Sweetie, it's the yellow wire, not the green one."

The Doctor pulls off his goggles. "I know I was just holding it!" Something sprays sparks and he scurries to fix it. "Oh, hell…"

River smirks. "Well, I'd like to know sooner or later. First time around you said something about a hole the size of Belgium in the Universe. Of course, I could've heard wrong through the gunfire and explosions…"

"Oh no, Belgium's right," he says. "Now leave me be, I've got to fix this before anything else goes wrong."

River crosses her arms over her chest. "Well sorry if I wanted to keep the timeline intact."

He scowls. "Go ask Quigs, she'll tell you."

River frowns. "Who's Quigs?"

"I apparently answer to that name," I sigh. "Please don't call me that, only the Doctor does and that's because he's a stubborn bastard who acts like my kid brother."

River smiles. "I get it. He named the parrot Bertrand."

"There's a parrot?" the Doctor asks, sitting up and immediately banging his head on the console. He grimaces.

River covers her mouth with her hand. "Whoops. Spoilers."

The Doctor waves my way. "Just go ask Jenna, she knows, probably." And with that, he disappears under the console again.

River turns and looks at me both quizzically and expectantly, and I realize I have a job to do.

"Right!" I say, clapping my hands together. "Okay. Well, he's after Berlin, so he knows who you are, but he's before Silencio the second time around, so he doesn't know _who_ you are, in regarding to him. Aged 943, left Amy and Rory, last saw you at the hospital before you applied at Luna University. I think." I pause. "Yeah, pretty sure that's all that's relevant."

"How do you know all of that?" she asks, looking more and more skeptical by the second. I really can't blame her; I'd be freaked out as well if someone knew as much as I do.

"I saw it," I admit slowly.

"But you weren't there."

"I know."

"There were no cameras."

I open my mouth, but consider it for a second. Actually there were cameras, but in a parallel dimension where this was a television set in Cardiff.

"Ah…" I drag out. I swallow, and then attempt to speak again. "Well, it sort of has to do with why I'm here with the Doctor and why I'm not at home doing my English project…" Yes, there was an English project. And yes, it was one of the reasons I scampered off into the TARDIS.

"Alright, I want to know everything," River says. "Because it's alright to keep your background hidden, I understand. But when it involves me and anybody I care about the circumstances change."

I gulp, feeling a little intimidated. Okay, _very_ intimidated. I circumvent River (vocabulary!) and go tap the Doctor on the leg. "Doctor?"

Obviously fed up, the Doctor propels himself out from under the console and glares at me. "I'm _trying_ to work here. Unless you want all the history you've known and all of the people you care about to disappear I would suggest you let me continue working."

"River wants to know about…me," I say.

He frowns. "Then go tell her. Everybody enjoys a good story, I know I do."

"Yeah, but you explain it better," I confess. "Besides, I still don't understand half of it."

"What do you mean, you were there!" he points out.

I nod. "Yeah, but…it's just the whole Silence deal and the difference between parallel dimensions and parallel universes and rips in reality or how I'm still existing because I thought about it and really I shouldn't be and _I'm still thoroughly confused, okay_?"

"Well why didn't you ask?" he questions.

"Because when you explain things it sounds like a mouse talking in fast motion," I tell him.

He ignores and continues to work. I glance back over to River, who's frowning at me. I sigh and walk back over to her.

"I come from a parallel dimension-universe-thingy-or-whatever where this is all a television show," I say. "You, the Doctor, and everybody are actors, the TARDIS and all the planets and places are either sets or computer animation, and time travel does not exist. Of course here it's all real, but not where I'm from." I inhale. "And the Doctor came through a tear in reality…or a rip I really think they're the same thing-"

"They are most definitely not," the Doctor interjects.

I glare at him before turning back to River. "Anyway, he came through a tear in reality, we whooped alien ass and then I snuck aboard the TARDIS for a week until he found me out. By then the tear had closed so I'm stuck here and we've been doing things like saving alien races, running from famous people, and helping arrogant detectives and their bloggers. Any questions?"

"You almost talk as fast as him," is all she has to say.

I take a deep breath. "Well, when you're around him long enough you pick up certain traits."

"So…where you're from, I'm a television character?" she asks, looking completely unfazed.

"Yeah," I say. "And you're not bothered by that at all?"

"Well do people like me?" River inquires.

I nod. "Yes. Yes, actually, a lot of people do."

She smiles. "Then I am perfectly fine with it."

"So you believe everything I just said, you truly trust me?"

River shrugs. "Well, if the Doctor trusts you then I trust you. And believe me, sweetie, I've come across things far more odd than that."

"Like what?" I ask, feeling the moment of tension fade away.

River smirks. "Don't you know already?"

"Well I don't know _everything_," I point out. "Like this? This was never shown. That whole 200 year period between the Doctor leaving the Ponds in London and…" I glance at the distracted Doctor. "And the _other thing_, that was completely left to the imagination. Until now."

"Well now I know I still have some semblance of a private life," River says. "Not that many things are private for me."

I smile. "So, how long have you been in Stormcage?"

"Six years," she sighs. "Awfully boring place, but I have my fun."

"Oh yeah," I recall. "The strip search."

"Anything that might rile up my old man is always fun," she says, gesturing to the Doctor.

I laugh. "Yeah. So where do you want to go? I mean, its fine if we hang out here while the cable guy gives us new channels-" I nod towards the Doctor. "—but we're not staying here all the time, especially with you here."

River raises an eyebrow. "Oh? And why wouldn't I want to just stay here for the time being?"

I smile. "Because you're River Song, the girl cooped up in a prison cell who'll take advantage of the time she's out."

River goes over to the console, reading off of the scanner. "Well, you certainly know your trivia."

I roll my eyes. "Trust me, it isn't something to be proud of."

"I was thinking something adventurous, like Gettysburg," River tells me. "But the archaeologist in me is craving something…more interesting."

"Like what?" I ask.

"Easter Island," River says. "Just screams fun. Isolated from most of the world, mysterious statues and customs…Mmmm, I'm getting excited just thinking about it." She pulls down one of the levers and a bang reverberates around the room.

The Doctor pushes himself out from under the console and stands up. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Driving, sweetie, what does it look like?" she asks coyly, pressing a couple buttons and not really paying attention to the Doctor.

"I was working!" he points out.

"Oh please, sweetie, we all know you finished rewiring two minutes ago."

"How did you—never mind. But this is _my_ ship; _I_ should be the one driving."

"You drove yourself into a parallel dimension, love. I think I'm more qualified."

"Yes, well I had _reason_ to do so!"

River quirks an eyebrow. "And what was that?"

He sputters. "Personal business. Fine! You can drive. Just…leave the brakes on, will you? It's a good noise."

I glance between the two of them. "Wait," I say. "Doctor, did you never tell her about R-"

"Ah ah ah!" he tuts, going over and covering my mouth with his hand. "The erm…Rio Grande Café. Best coffee on Earth, _but_ it's much better when it's not uh…this Earth. Yeah."

River looks at him skeptically before going back to the scanner. "Don't push yourself, sweetie. I'll find out who she is sooner or later."

"I—how do you know they're a 'she'?" he asks. He still hasn't taken his hand off of my mouth and I _really_ don't like the taste of custard and electrical tape on my tongue.

River smirks. "Please. I'm the child of the TARDIS. You don't think she would've told me a thing or two? Let's see…is it the temp, the shop girl, or that _ravishing_ captain?"

"Ravishing?" he asks, finally taking his hand away. I try to spit out the taste.

River shrugs. "What can I say?" she asks, turning to the Doctor and tugging on his jacket. "I love a man in uniform. So who was it?"

He stutters, looking caught off-guard. "Th-The shop girl."

"Rose?" she asks. The Doctor nods. "Oh, I heard she was a special one. Big Bad Wolf, eh?"

"How-"

"TARDIS records," she answers. "And word gets around when the phrase is plastered into every era known to exist."

The Doctor sighs. "Oh."

River lets him go, smirking at his squirminess. "Don't think I know a thing or two about your past, Doctor. I've seen all your faces. Must say you were quite the pretty boy last time."

There's a moment of silence, because the Doctor and I have heard her use that phrase before in an entirely different setting, but it ends as soon as it begins. The Doctor scowls.

"And what does that make me now?" he asks.

"A giraffe," I joke, laughing.

"A very handsome giraffe," River corrects. I make a face.

"A very dorky giraffe," I add.

"Oi!"

I smile. "Don't worry, it's a compliment."

"Doesn't sound like a compliment…" he grumbles.

"Oh, cheer up, Doctor," I reassure him, patting him on the shoulder. "We're going to Easter Island."

He looks over to River. "Oh _are_ we?"

River nods. "Easter Island, circa 1192 C.E., isolated from the rest of the world. Polynesian culture, very small."

"Polynesian, eh?" the Doctor asks, face lighting up. "Always wanted to learn how to hula dance, I've never had the chance to." He does a small hula motion that almost sends me into hysterics.

"Well then," River says, pressing a couple buttons. "I suggest you hold onto something."

The entire room shakes and I grip the nearest railing. It's an involuntary reflex now, holding onto the most stable object you can find. It's partly survival, but in all honesty it's more part of routine. Like when you wake up and sort of languidly go through the morning and ten minutes later realize you're making breakfast.

Except it' best not to sleepwalk in the TARDIS, you never know where you might end up.

The shaking stops and we all look at each other, waiting for someone to move and initiate the trip outside. Of course, River and I look to the Doctor.

He looks between the two of us. "Hm? Oh, yes! Easter Island." He rubs his hands together. "Moai and Polynesians. Yes. Well, let's go, shall we?"

He walks down the stairs, jumping on the second-to-last one and landing on the floor with a loud thud, going to go open the doors.

"I've always wanted to go somewhere south of the Equator," I comment. "Nice and warm, no temperate rainy days or freezing sunny ones."

"Where were you from?" River asks.

"Oregon, in the Pacific Northwest," I say. "Boring. Don't go there unless you need to, though I don't see a situation that would lead to the capital of hipsters and lumberjacks."

"You never know," River reminds me. "Lumberjacks are actually very important to the balance of the Universe."

I smile. "Are they?"

She smiles. "Very."

The Doctor nods and points to his chin. "The beard hides their third eye." He claps his hands together again. "Alright. Let's go!"

"Allons-y," I mutter, I swear he grins for half a second.

We open the doors, and like all the other times when we open the TARDIS doors we don't come across the expected.

"Oh," the Doctor says. "Hello."

I look around. There are huts everywhere, some pouring out smoke but others just silent and still. People are bustling about, or they were. They've stopped. Everybody's stopped to stare at us, bewildered. Some have even rushed up to where we are, frowns on their faces and fear in their eyes. Some are poised with spears in our direction.

We've landed in the middle of a village, where people are threatening to kill us. Again. God damn it.

The larger of the men, one who has multiple tattoos and just reeks of authority drops his weapon, sinking to the ground and…_bowing_?

"All hail the magical gods and their mighty box," he says. The other village people drop their things and follow him.

Well, fuck.

**#**

**Sorry this took so long, school's been a drag. Part 2 will be up in a week or so.**

**The Christmas Special is coming soon! Hallelujah!**

**Sherlock's been pushed back to early 2014, unfortunately. And Merlin's getting canceled. So in all honesty Tumblr is sort of a mess right now.**

**Do all your following and favoriting as well if you are enjoying this story.**

**Reviews are nice as well.**

**-JustStandingHere**


	21. The Malihini, Part 2

**Hello you guys! I give you another chapter of this semi-mediocre story!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

I've never been mistaken as a god before.

It's actually kind of nice, to tell you the truth.

We don't have time to talk to anybody. The village people just send us off to one of the bigger huts, ushering us inside and asking if we want anything. I say food, because I'm hungry again and I'm apparently a god so I'll do as I please.

I'm all smiles right now, because I mean, me? A deity? Aren't goddesses supposed to be really pretty and shit like that? I'll take it as a compliment.

But the Doctor and River just sort of look annoyed.

The villagers bring in a plate full of things I don't even know existed but are delicious anyways. Is that a fruit? Looks like a fruit. Nope, its meat. Fruity meat.

I look up, mouth stuffed, to see the other two mistaken deities examining their screwdriver and filing their nails.

"Uh, guys?" I ask. "What's with the bored looks?"

"We're bored," they answer bluntly and simultaneously.

"Isn't this cool, though?" I remind them. "I mean, we've been here ten minutes and they've given us the royal treatment."

"Gets old," River comments. The Doctor nods to that statement.

"You mean this has happened _before_?" I ask.

River waves her hand away. "Please. I've posed at Cleopatra, Athena, Ishtar, and…Frigg." She frowns. "I believe it was Frigg. Might have been Sif…no, no it was Frigg."

I gape. "Well…okay. Makes sense. For archaeology, right?"

River smirks. "And a little fun, messing with their heads."

I look over to the Doctor. "So you've been mistaken as a god before as well?"

He looks up at me. "Well what do you expect? Blue box appears out of nowhere, a _man_ comes out of the box with weird clothes and a magical stick that can make thinks explode and has a funny noise-" He clicks the sonic on. "—perfect recipe for a god, don't you think?"

"So you've been seen as a god?" I repeat.

"On many planets, yes," he answers. "Rexipon 45 has an entire week dedicated to me, brilliant festival. It has a lot of balloons, I love balloons." He grins, thinking about it.

I swallow my food and let my hands slide off of the small table set up for us. "Any on Earth?" I ask.

He sits back, contemplating and looking like he's almost trying to recall something. "Ever heard of Hephaestus?" he asks.

I gape again. "You're joking."

"Helped out a couple blokes when I was in Greece at the time," he adds. He grimaces. "Had a nasty bit with the Sycorax. They threw me off of a mountain."

I grit my teeth. "Ouch."

"Greece has never been a favorite place of mine," he comments. "Yet somehow everyone wants to go there."

"I don't know, I've had a lot of fun there," River says smirking.

"Oh?" the Doctor questions.

"People _worshipped_ me there, especially in Athens," she tells us. "Goddess of wisdom and _war strategy_. Could not have been more perfect. But this one time—well, the Mediterranean before the Common Era was very hospitable, and some early species decided to inhabit some of the more deserted islands. And they had all made bets on this silly war that was going, on some of them. I, of course, put my money on Greece because those Spartans…" He laughs to herself. "Anyways, I had won...though I did cheat a little bit."

"How?" I ask.

"I equipped them with perception filters to make them look like horses," River continues. "I was originally going for townspeople, but this one man convinced me otherwise. And that man, oh he was a clever one. Helped me out of a few predicaments I had gotten into. Good company. Perhaps I favorite him too much, but those aliens in the betting ring? They were very cross. Targeted the poor guy. So I pulled some strings and was able to move my away around using a vortex manipulator and a handy perception filter. Great fun, but it took it still took him twenty years to get home."

The Doctor grunts.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. He was handsome, sure, but he also had a wife. Son, too. He inherited his father's looks." She smiles at the memory.

I blink, some of my freshman English class suddenly hitting me upside the head. "So…you're responsible for the whole Odyssey?"

River shrugs. "Basically."

I smile. "That's…really, really cool."

"I saved all of Corinth from a massive alien invasion," the Doctor supplies, looking left out. "Didn't get a book, though. I got a gift basket."

I laugh. "Thrown off a mountain, get a gift basket," I review. I nod my head to the side. "Worth it, right?"

He's about to reply when the same village man who'd been escorting us everywhere (I think his name is Akamu…possibly Analu) enters the hut, bowing his head.

"Oh, no need to avert your eyes like that!" the Doctor says. "We're all friends here."

"I apologize, almighty ones," he says. He looks at us. "B-But you are needed, if that is alright with you."

"Needed?" the Doctor asks. "Needed, how, exactly?"

"Aulani needs to see you," he says, still not looking at us directly.

"Who is Aulani?" River asks.

"She is…uh, the messenger of the gods," he explains. "You know, the only one who hears what you say to us. She is very special, she came to us some time ago."

"Is that so?" the Doctor asks, quirking an eyebrow. "Interesting. Well, we should go see this Aulani then, shouldn't we?" He sits up. "Come along, River! Quigs!"

"I'm eating!" I point out.

"Oh, you have time for that later," he dismisses. "We're needed at the moment."

"Y-You and your concubines can go see her at any time," Akamu/Analu stutters. "I do not mean to rush you."

I almost choke. "Concubines?" I start laughing. "Oh, no. We're not—dear lord, no. I'm just his companion. And even with River, I mean she's his-"

"Spoilers, sweetie," River reminds me dryly.

The man blushes. "I apologize again. I-If there's anything I can do to make for this mistake…"

The Doctor waves his hand away. "No need to apologize. It's an honest misunderstanding; don't beat yourself up about it." He turns to me again. "You can eat later, Quigs, we have _godly_ business to attend."

I push my food away with a scowl and stand up.

"Lead the way, Akamu!" the Doctor says. Oh, so that's his name. Good to know.

We exit the hut and return to the hot, humid weather of Easter Island. Ugh, I am _not_ used to this. At all. Couldn't we have gone somewhere colder? I'm from the damn Northwest, I don't live in weather like this _and_ I'm in jeans. Jeans suck. Jeans are too thick, I hate them.

Most of the villagers keep on with their routine, but a good third of them stop and stare at us. I can see why, really. Three people with weird skin and weird clothing. It's enough to make anyone ogle.

"So this Aulani," River says. "She's a soothsayer of some sort?"

Akamu frowns. "Wouldn't you know before, as you have spoken to her?"

"Transmission gets a little fuzzy up in the sky," I lie. "For all we knew, we could've been talking to, uh, a warthog or…something."

"I assure you, Aulani is very much human," he says. "She has been bestowed gifts of beauty and wisdom. She said you would be coming."

"Did she?" the Doctor asks. "Interesting…"

"And she has been a gift in it of herself to the island," he adds. "Once she explained that we were doing things wrong, she fixed our ways of adoration. Ever since then the crops have grown fuller and people have never been happier. New ways of making life easier have been made, nobody is dying as much as before."

"This Aulani seems to be a very fortunate person," I comment.

Akamu smiles and nods, and it takes me a second to realize we're not in the village anymore.

"Where are we?" I ask.

"Rano Kau," Akamu answers. I stare up at the intimidating peak. "She separates herself from everyone else to distract herself from unimportant matters. A-At least that's what she says. She's just up the way." He points straight ahead.

"We can make the journey from here," River tells him. "Thank you very much for your guidance."

He glances between us before nodding, bowing, and leaving.

"This isn't right," River says.

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"The location, the village, the mountain…" she says brokenly. "It's all wrong."

The Doctor sonics the air. "Everything looks normal."

"Even you see it, though!" River points out.

The Doctor eyes the peak of the mountain. "I do. But maybe this Aulani girl has some answers."

I wave my hand. "Hello? Hey, yeah. Care to explain to the girl who only has a basic understanding of history?"

"Rano Kau is supposed to be a crater right now," River explains. "That village is Orongo—it's a famous ruins site. It's supposed to be placed on the rim of the crater, not on the side of the mountain."

"So where we're standing-"

"Shouldn't exist," the Doctor finishes. "And I have a very keen interest on things existing where they shouldn't be." He glances towards me. "Fascinating things, they are. So let's go talk to the woman who lives in a house that shouldn't be there, shall we?"

I gulp and nod, remembering that, hey, I actually don't belong to this Universe. I belong to another one. Or is that dimension? I don't know anymore. The point is that I'm completely different than everyone else. In fact, I'm not even supposed to be h—

_You should not be here_.

Yeah, call me stupid. I finally got what the interface meant after an entire fucking month, sue me.

_No. You should not be _here.

_What's the difference in that?_

_Everything._

Damn right it's everything. Stupid interface, why'd it have to be so vague? It's not like just saying clean, clear instructions is going to end the world. Why do all the prophets have to do that? Put in similes and symbolic text just to confuse the shit out of anybody who reads it. Seriously, a story about fishing could suddenly hold the key to the answer to the life, universe, and everything.

It's ridiculous.

(Besides, we all know the answer is 42. Morons.)

I keep silent and trudge up the mountain a little more until a small stone hut pokes out in between the dips and bumps of the mountainside. For the sake of curiosity I look back and see the ocean, and how if I decided to roll down the hill like I did as a kid I would most likely roll to my death.

"Quigs, are you coming?" the Doctor asks. "It's not far."

"I am," I say in a small voice. "Just…uh, just give me a minute, okay? By then the vertigo will pass and I won't puke on your shoes."

"You are completely safe, and it's only a couple steps away," River reminds me.

I close my eyes for a long period of time, trying to force myself to forget that _I am on a downward slope into death I am on a downward slope into death fuck I am on a downward slope into death_ and turn around again to face the Doctor and River. "Okay, okay. I can make it, yeah. I can totally make it. For sure."

I shakily take another step with a foot and feel the dirt move underneath the sole of my shoe. I panic for a second, but I catch myself and hoist other foot in front. Screw heights, and my complete fear of them. Well, not screw. More like mildly ignore. For now. I mean, high places are still scary as shit.

I catch up with the other two to arrive at the hut. It's small and reeks of…something. I don't really know. Mold? Or is that incense?

The Doctor is goes to knock on the door.

"Enter," says a feminine voice.

He pauses. "She's good. Can't be a village without a good soothsayer."

We walk in. The place in dark and lit by oil candles. It's very musty, so much I feel like I'm going to swallow the same air twice and choke. Little trinkets are on the ceiling, made of animal bones and seashells and some things I don't even recognize. A kettle is boiling something that's sending the odd smell through the air, and next to the kettle is a young woman.

She's pretty, I can tell you that. Smooth skin, not a bump or mole or scar to be shown. She's darker than me, obviously, but slightly paler than the other villagers. Probably from being inside this old, dank house for so long. Her hair is long and braided to the side, and she wears a simple purple cloth that has a tie around the waist. Her eyes are brown, but not a sort of nice, warm brown. An old brown, the kind that looks like it's tinged with gray almost and so very ancient and _knowing_. She's got a cunning smile on her face that says _I know something you don't know_ is an almost sing-song way.

"Sit down, please," Aulani invites. "I am honored to have the gods who emerged from the fantastic box in my home."

She gestures her hand to the woven mats on the floor. We all hesitantly sit down, keeping our eye on her. The light keeps flickering across her face, so her age is indiscernible. She could be anything between thirteen and thirty.

"We were told you wanted to see us," River says, looking steadily at her with her legs tucked at her side.

Aulani nods and stirs the mixture in the kettle a little, not looking at us. "The gods have finally arrived, of course I wished for you to see me."

"And what do you want of us?" River prods.

Aulani smirks. It's too young for her to be older than twenty-five. "Oh, you gods. Always running inside that magical blue object for answers but never getting any." She sighs and sets the stirring object down. "I wish to discuss the matters of how you will present yourselves."

"Present ourselves?" I repeat.

"To the village," she adds. "After all, you hold such divine knowledge and I would not like to say anything that shouldn't be said. Your brethren have informed me of some things, and I don't which things you would like to keep private."

"Brethren, you say?" the Doctor asks. "We were not informed that they have spoken to you. Which of these 'brethren' did you talk to?"

She smiles. "The Nalowale, as they call themselves."

I frown at the Polynesian word, feeling slightly disturbed. Something's not right.

"Oh yes!" the Doctor says, nodding and using one of his fake skills. "Nalowale, of course. Always spilling the beans, they are."

"They told me you would be coming today. I did not expect you to arrive so late." She folds her hands in her lap, looking poised and very, _very_ dangerous.

"I prefer the term 'fashionably delayed'," the Doctor fires back. "But, whatever floats your boat, as we say back in…our godly places."

"They also said you would be a little…" She looks around at us. "…unusual looking. And you would talk funny. Strange, how one of you talks more different than the other two." Aulani looks over to me.

"I…was born in a different area," I answer. "I have a, uh, _Western_ heavenly accent."

"Interesting," Aulani comments. She stands, and the light is brighter on her face now that she is level with the candles. She's only slightly older than me, maybe seventeen or eighteen. "Well, we must certainly get on business, of course."

The Doctor nods. "Oh, of course. I love business. Official, sturdy, yes. Business."

Aulani smirks. "They said you would be the oddest one."

He frowns. "Oi! Eccentricity is nothing to make fun of."

She ignores his comment and turns to River. "So, what do you and your...oh, what was it?" She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath until they flutter open again. "Husband, yes. What do you and your husband and your…oh, I keep losing it!" She shakes her head in frustration, losing her poised and venomous aura from before.

"Companion?" I guess.

She claps. "Yes! Companion! What information do you wish to give to us?"

River frowns. "Well, what information do you hold?"

"The Nalowale have given me much," she supplies. "The landscape of the heavens, the future, the past, your names…"

That all catches our attention.

"Even my name?" the Doctor asks in a hushed and dangerous voice.

Aulani smiles. "Of course. Both your….cover names and your sacred names."

"What do you believe our cover names to be?" I ask.

Aulani looks surprised and perplexed. "Well, wouldn't you know?"

"The gods work in mysterious ways for mysterious reasons," the Doctor explains. "Now give us the names."

"Well, your cover names…they're odd ones. Then again, so are your true ones. Feel wrong on the tongue. But, so is the language of the heavens, correct?"

We all nod, trying to move her along.

"Yes, but what are the names?" I urge, feeling slightly worried.

"Yours is the Malihini," she supplies, going into her closed-eyes-psychic-thing again. "The wife is the Kahawai, and you—the odd one—you are the Kauka."

I frown at the language again. "I see," I say. I look over to the Doctor and River. "Can I have a word with the both of you? Please?"

We huddle into the corner of the hut and begin to whisper.

"Doctor, what's going on?" I ask. "Why is she talking all…Polynesian-y and stuff?"

"Because she's speaking in English," he says in a grave, realizing tone.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Just hold the phone.

"Wait, _English_?" I repeat. "They're isolated on an island! How could she know English?"

"She doesn't," River states. "Those 'brethren' she's been talking to, though—they know."

"Then how do we figure out the names? I mean what if she knows…" I jab my thumb towards the Doctor. "You and I both know-"

"Know what?" the Doctor asks.

I grimace, berating myself. "Nothing. It's future stuff, okay?"

"Time is a funny thing," River says. "For all we know…it might have already happened."

"But how do we figure it out?" I hiss, getting frustrated because if _that _has happened _that_ is not very good and really I don't know if I'll be able to keep my mouth shut if it has.

"Ask her to translate," the Doctor says, though he sounds very offended to be kept out of River and I's conversation. "The TARDIS should reverse the effect and we'll get English."

I nod. "Okay." I turn around to see a confused young prophetess/soothsayer/mystical girl. "Aulani! Hey. We were wondering if maybe you translate those names. You know, for the villagers. We would detest the idea of having them speak something so…uh, funny to say. Think you could do that?"

"Oh, of course!" she supplies, sounding excited. "It's been a while since I've gotten anything new from the others." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, holding it in before exhaling it with one single vowel. "Oh."

"What is it?" River asks cautiously.

"The names translate to the Stranger, the River, and the Doctor," she says. She blinks a couple times. "That's nice. I thought they were ignoring me for the longest time. It's been a while since they've truly supplied me with anything I haven't just forgotten."

"How long ago did you learn we were coming here?" the Doctor asks.

"Roughly a month ago. But do you wish to use those names? Or would you rather use your true names?"

"And what would those be?" the Doctor inquires, voice shaky. "Specifically, mine. It's very important."

"They were…ah, one second. I wrote them down somewhere," she says, going behind an area blocked off from vision by cloth. She reemerges with a small stone slab. "Hey they are. You, the Stranger, you are the Pu'iwa Kaikamahine. And the River, you are the Wahah'e. And you…Doctor…you are Ho-opilikia Kanaka."

I look over and see the Doctor relax a little.

Oh, _thank god._

"And could you translate those?" River begs. "We need to figure out which would work better. For publicity reasons, of course."

"Let me see," she says. "Uh…alright, thank you very much. But please don't-" She pauses, and the forgetful; young girl is replaced with the cold, calculating one that we first met. "Your names. They're quite interesting. Say a lot about you."

"…and what are they, exactly?" I ask, slightly perturbed by the personality switch.

"The Unexpected Girl, the Liar, and the Broken Man," she says calmly. "Names are powerful things. Reveal the type of soul in the person you're dealing with. Or god, in your cases." She slowly puts the tablet on the ground and saunters over. "Don't you think?"

I gulp. "I-I guess. What do they reveal, exactly?"

Aulani smirks. "Everything."

"Even me…"

"Of course," she drawls. "You…Unexpected Girl, you have no idea what's ahead of you. And when you do, you will _detest_ it."

I gulp. "You're lying."

She laughs. "Am I?" She looks over to River. "And the Liar, you have to for a reason, correct? Always having to lie to keep the ones you trust safe, and the sake of their trust itself. Even the one you love most doesn't know all of your secrets."

River glares at her, steel-faced and emotionless.

"Absolute rubbish," the Doctor grumbles.

"Not so," Aulani says.

"Please," the Doctor scoffs. "What could you tell from my name about my soul?"

"Oh, Broken Man," Aulani coos, walking over and leaning over him. "With all those fractures and cracks…your soul is _pouring_ out of you. The pain…the sadness…" She brushes some hair out of his face. "The hurt. It never stops, does it? And you try to hide it so well, but your eyes are just gushing with all of that _self-hatred_."

The Doctor looks at her straight in the eye. "I think we'll stick with the cover names for now."

Aulani straightens, blinking a couple times before exhaling. "Good. That's…great, yeah. Cover names, you say? Alright, perfect! Well of course it's perfect, everything the gods do is perfect." Her knowing expression is gone, replaced with the look of a middle schooler who just met a teen heartthrob.

Okay, what is with the multiple personality disorder? "Aulani, are you okay?" I ask.

"What?" she asks. "Yes, of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?"

"Do you remember the last minute or two of conversation we just had?" River interrogates in a quick and serious tone.

"We were talking about your true names," she says. "And then you asked me to translate them for you…but then you decided for me not to translate them and said you'd just use your cover names. Why do you ask me?"

"No reason," the Doctor quickly says. He stands, clapping his hands together. "Well, I think we've gotten that settled. Cover names—everything else is fine to tell by the way. We are perfectly fine with it. But if you could, we would appreciate it if you called the Strangers Quigs. Old nickname we gave her, he loves it. Come along now, Pond. Quigs."

"You're a bastard," I growl, very much annoyed and befuddled.

"No, I'm a Time Lord. Now, come on." He walks up to Aulani. "Great to speak with you, Aulani. But we must return to our, urm, magical blue box for just a moment. See you at the feast tonight?"

"Uh, yes," the soothsayer says, uncertain. "Of course. I am honored to have you in my home."

"And we are honored to be here," the Doctor says. He turns back to River and I. "Well, don't just stand there, you two. We have godly things to get done."

River and I glance at each other before exiting with the Doctor, nodding to Aulani as she smiles nervously and goes back to her kettle.

"Something's not right here," the Doctor says, not facing us but instead looking towards the slope to ocean. I don't dare look in that direction for the fear of throwing up, and River just stares intently at him.

"Well yeah, no shit," I say. "Everything's so…"

"Wrong," River says. "Historical inaccuracies are everywhere, and I checked. We're in the right time period."

"But the time period isn't acting right," I add. I frown. "Doctor, how could Aulani speak English?"

The Doctor turns towards us, and I see a flash of glassiness in his eyes before they become focused again. "Oh, what does it matter? We can figure it out later, can't we? We're being treated like gods here, let's enjoy it!"

River and I exchange a glance. "Sweetie, are you okay?" River asks.

"Of course I'm okay, I'm the lord of 'I'm fine' land!" he proclaims. He turns and starts walking down the hill. "Come now, the villagers are waiting!"

"Okay, things just got five hundred percent weirder around here," I say.

River keeps her eyes on her husband. "You can say that again. Perhaps the TARDIS will have some answers about all of this."

I nod. "Yeah, probably."

River starts strutting down the side of the mountain.

I turn back to glance up at Aulani's hut and the whole peak of Rano Kau. Everything looks normal, as if that whole exchange never happened.

For a moment, the image wavers slightly. A flash of silver, the round beneath by feet a sort of blackish color. But it's gone as soon as it came. I stumble slightly, feeling a massive headache hit me and make my vision go slightly fuzzy. The world turns sideways before it quickly fades away.

I open my eyes, realizing that I had squeezed them shut.

"Damn vertigo," I mutter, and I head down to catch up with the Doctor and River.

**#**

**I'm so sorry this took so long, but this was a difficult chapter to write and life is huge distraction.**

**So, yeah. Everything's kind of crazy right now. It'll make sense in a bit, trust me.**

**I love each and every one of you and all of your favorites, follows, and reviews. Especially the ones without an account who are reading this.**

**I'll post in a week or so, hopefully before the apparent end of the world.**

**And my heart goes out to all those affected by the violence that's been happening this week. I live in the general district of the area where there was the mall shooting, and I know that it is absolutely terrifying to go through all of that.**

**Reviews are very much appreciated, criticism and such are admired.**

**See you soon!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	22. The Malihini, Part 3

**Hey! So I'm editing the name of this 'episode' because I realized it fit more for the next adventure I'm doing. Which, btw, will be the Christmas special of this imaginary season I've placed in my head.**

**Speaking of Christmas specials, did you see that one? Dear god, wow. I cried. Am crying. Will continue crying, most likely.**

**I'll try to spoil you, but MOFFAT WHAT'S WITH YOUR FETISH FOR HEIGHTS.**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

I realize how late we arrived at the village when I see the first specks of orange and pink start to blend into the sky. The small stone huts are starting to glow orange in between the cracks of the doors and I see torches being put up for the feast. These people really think we're divinity. I sort of feel guilty for tricking them like this.

But it's quickly shrouded by two different feeling: confusion and general discomfort. Confusion for obvious reasons. The Doctor switching his moods, Aulani acting like she has two personalities, the 'Nalowale' and their information about us. Rano Kau's peak existing.

And general discomfort because it's eighty-five god damn degrees outside and I'm still in the same jeans I wore back in London. They're sweaty and dirty and hell, _I'm _sweaty and dirty. I haven't showered in quite a while.

The Doctor is waving at the village people, grinning like a moron and straightening his bow tie. River is a couple steps ahead of us, determined to get to the TARDIS.

"Alright," I say. "You can stop acting like a worker at Disneyland."

"Nothing wrong with a little cheer," he defends.

"Yeah, well it's getting creepy," I tell him. "And we have big things to focus on, remember? You know, like Aulani knowing English and a whole fucking _mountain_ existing."

His walk stutters, and he blinks a couple times. "Of-Of course, yeah. Blimey, how did I forget about that?" He does a little lopsided grin of self-embarrassment. "Funny. I'm not one to forget things."

I shrug. "Must come with age."

"Oi!" he cries out. "I am _not_ old!"

"You're older than St. Bartholomew's Hospital," I point out. "Which, may I remind you, has existed since the early 12th century. Can't win this one, old man."

He glares at me, and tries to catch River's attention. "River, am I old?"

River turns to him and stops. "No, not at all, sweetie," River says.

He turn his head to me and raises his eyebrows is a 'haha-told-you' kind of way.

"Judging from a Time Lord's perspective, I'd say you're middle-aged," she continues with a smirk. "Not that it matters to me, of course."

The Doctor gapes. "How dare you—you know, back in my day people…" He trails off, realizing what he's saying and letting his previously spastic arms collapse back onto his sides.

I pat him on the shoulder. "Come on, pops. We have investigating to do."

The TARDIS is still standing in the middle of the village, looking kind of like that guy in those dark alleyways your mom warned you to never talk to. Only, he's wearing blue and not a trench coat with little to nothing underneath.

Anyways, it looks scary and a little fr—OW! Okay, okay. I get it. Sorry.

Time machines sometimes.

The villagers all try to sneak a peek at what's inside, but we enter quickly. The best they get is a flash of golden light. Great for upping the rumors.

"We need to search for temporal displacements and general stretches in reality," River tells us. "I'll search through the scanner, you check for anything odd in the readings. And Jenna, you can-"

"Actually, I think I'm going to go take a shower, if you don't mind," I interrupt. "I mean, no offense, I'm as Twilight Zoned as all of you here, but I'm not exactly qualified for this and I feel like crap."

"I told you we could have taken a break," the Doctor reminds me.

"Yeah, well thank you Captain Hindsight," I sigh. "I'll be back in half an hour or so. Make sure the feast doesn't start without me."

I absentmindedly empty my pockets onto the chair and, while the Doctor isn't looking, snatch the deerstalker off of the console and walk up the stairs to the corridors.

I look around for the boiler room and throw the hideous thing in there with no regrets.

I've grabbed a towel, robe, and hairbrush when I turn a corner to see Christopher Eccleston.

Well, no. More like Doctor numero nueve.

"You should not be here," the interface reminds me in a Northern accent.

I get over the initial shock and slump a bit, making my hip jerk to the side. "Oh, you again."

"You should not be here."

I wave my free hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. Look, I figured it out."

"Oh did you?" the interface asks, putting Nine's sass to use.

"Yeah, I did."

"And?"

"Here means, well, _here_. This universe or dimension or whatever. Which one is it, by the way?"

"Universe."

"Yeah, I belong to another one. It's sort of like putting mayonnaise on a PB&J sandwich. It doesn't work, right?"

The interface nods. "Good."

"Right, and I can't get back to my place because of those tears in reality," I continue. "And the fact they're sewed shut."

"Not all of them," it says.

"Well yeah, but those are tiny," I respond. "Not enough to squeeze a microwave through, much less me."

"Not yet," Nine says cryptically.

"Huh?"

"You've attached yourself to this universe," he says. "And I'm beginning to see what will become of you. And the tears won't always be closed up."

I blink. "They won't?"

Nine shakes his head. "But that is not the point. I came to send you a message."

"From who?" I ask.

"That is classified for your own safety," he fires back.

"Okay," I say. I walk up to the projection. "And what is this 'message' this anonymous person wants to tell me?"

"They have given me a note, which you will find in the next room," the interface informs me.

I frown at the hologram for a moment, even more confused than I was before, and slowly maneuver around him to the next door I see. I know I can just walk right through him, but even in my state of rudeness I know how to be slightly polite.

I glance back at the interface, which's still got the blank expression and is gesturing for me to take a look inside.

I let the door slide past me. The room is small, and empty except for a single podium. It's short, maybe four feet tall and it cylindrical. It stands in the center, basking in the light of a single light bulb that looks like it's going to burn out any second.

All in all, it looks downright shady and creepy. Why would the TARDIS have a room like this?

On the podium is a small slip of paper, folded in half and looking a little worse for wear.

I cautiously geo inside and pick up the paper with my free hand, placing my thumb on the crease so I can open it.

"'The Cage'," I read aloud. "What's The…"

I turn around. The TARDIS interface is gone. I walk out and see the corridor is deserted.

"…Cage," I sigh. I shut the door and read the paper over and over again as I head towards the shower. "Fucking cryptic time machines…"

I don't think about it much, slipping the paper into the pocket of the shorts I've changed into after thoroughly scrubbing the sweat off of myself. I slip on the same Queen shirt and tie on my tennis shoes which have been splattered with mud and sand.

I call out for the interface a couple times, knowing it's probably going to be for nothing. It is.

I'm close to the control room when I hear it.

"Jenna!" the Doctor calls out. He sounds irritated, like he's been calling for me for the past ten minutes. I frown and cautiously answer.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Come in here," he orders.

Well, shit. What did I do this time? Or, rather, what did he figure out that I did this time?

I walk in and start saying my string of apologies before he can speak. "I'm sorry that I spilled Dr. Pepper on the dash, I'm sorry I accidentally snapped the yellow wire, I was just trying to get out from under the console, I'm sorry that I set the deerstalker on fire, I'm sorry that I-"

"No, no, it's none of that," the Doctor says, shaking his head. He and River are at the stairs, one of the Doctor's hands balled into a fist and holding something. River's got her arms crossed like an impatient mother. The Doctor's face briefly changes to confusion and looks back on the dashboard. "You did? Oh, I was beginning to like that hat!"

"Sweetie, now is not the time to complain about haberdashery," River reminds him.

I frown and quickly scour the room. Console's in check, no Silence around. TARDIS interface isn't here, and she doesn't even communicate to the Doctor that way. I look to the chair. My phone, my computer, my sketchbook, pencils, flyer from London with the missing person's face peeking out of the wrinkles in the paper. But something is missing…

Oh.

"Oh," I exhale. "Look I can explain-"

"Why would you have possession of _this_?" the Doctor asks, holding up the small exacto-knife the size of a grape between his fingers.

Come on, formulate a quick lie. Don't hesitate, just think of the first thing that comes to mind…

"It's for insurance," I tell him. Damn it, that wasn't a lie, was it?

The Doctor frowns. "Insurance? Have you not told me something?"

_Oh, there's so much you don't know_, I think, biting back the urge to blurt it out. Okay, convincing lies have some truth to them, right?

"No, it's just…insurance for self defense," I quickly conjure up.

"What do you mean by self defense?" River asks skeptically.

I inhale and come up with a string of words. "Well…I mean, Doc has a screwdriver, you've got a gun. And I decided, 'Hey, why not a knife?'"

"Yes, but one this small?" Doctor asks, observing the blade in his possession.

"Oi, you try to find something easy to hide," I say, getting into a good rhythm.

"Where'd you get it?" River asks.

"Nicked it in 221b," I say. "Back in London."

"You _stole_ from Sherlock Holmes?" the Doctor reiterates. "Do you realize how dangerous it is to have a knife in your possession?"

"It wasn't that hard," I confess. "And besides, it was when you and John went back to eighteen-hundred-whatever. I was desperate."

"Sweetie, you saw Sherlock Holmes?" River asks. "Why didn't you tell me? I have a couple stories about him, I can tell you that."

I gape. "How do you—"

"Irene Adler and I have a correspondence of some sort," River says simply.

I shake my head. "Of course you do. Everything here's a giant crossover, isn't it?" I walk over to the two and stretch out my hand. "Now give it over."

"Nope," the Doctor says, letting the blade slip back onto his palm and again making a fist. He walks over to the console, looking to prepare to do something. "You are a teenager, you should not be keeping things like this for _insurance_."

"Yeah, well, I'm also not supposed to be going around saving species with a strange guy in a transcendental police box, so _sue me_," I seethe, following him and then turning to look at River. "River, you use weapons. Tell him it's alright."

She shakes her head. "It's not alright. I only use mine because I have to."

"What if _I_ have to, though?" I ask.

"You won't have to with me around," the Doctor threatens. He drops the blade into one of the drawers, mixing up the contents. "There. Now you won't be able to find it."

I glare at him. "You don't have to act like you're my dad, you know."

"Think of it is as obligatory," he says. "Now, let' go outside. They have a feast waiting for us!"

He walks ahead, opening the door. I huff slightly and start storming out with River trailing behind me.

"You were lying," she says abruptly. I stop. "I can tell, people lie to me all the time. Sweetie, you've got to tell him."

I turn to her. "Not now. I've said it before. He'll blame himself and you and I both know what he's like when he gets like that. He'll think…he'll think it's his fault and drop me off somewhere. Try to protect me like I'm some fragile thing. And I'm not."

"You can't keep it from him forever," River advises. "He'll find out somehow, he always does."

"It's just…okay, there's this great quote you say, in the future—"

"Oh, do I?" she asks, smirking suddenly. We walk towards the doors, settling on the railing of the stairs.

"Well, maybe…what's your title again? These things get so messed up," I babble, putting my hand on my forehead.

"Doctor, though I've been told that I have promising future as a professor," she tells me.

"Yeah, so you say it later. And it's that you've never got to let the Doctor see you age. And this is a very—_very _adult thing. This isn't something that's spoken amongst ten year olds, oh no. He'll leave me, or wish for me to get help—but the thing is, this _is_ my help. All of this. And I don't what to give it up, not yet."

River sighs. "I'm just suggesting. It gets hard, after a while, of telling lies and hiding things."

I smile. "Well, he's only got another 150 years until he's caught up," I remind her. "And even then, you've got a bigger secret to hide. You're his wife. I'm just a passenger."

"Every companion is important to him. Even the ones he never was able to have."

Oh yeah. Idris, Astrid, Joan Redfern, Oswin. I gulp. "I'll tell him, later. Not now, though. Maybe after we deal with all this crazy crap going on."

"Tell who what?" a new voice asks. The Doctor is peeking his head through the doors.

River opens her mouth to speak, and I fear for my life as she begins to talk.

"Its girly things, sweetie, you wouldn't be interested," she waves off. I silently let go of the breath I've been holding.

The Doctor scrunches his face up in temporary disgust, but straightens it out a second later. "Well, come along! We have people waiting for us!"

The feast us fun, for a while.

We eat, talk, and generally have a good time. A lot of the people are like Akamu and just sort of stutter out praise to us, but some are brave enough to treat us like normal human beings. Well, a human being from a parallel universe, an alien, and a human being with added alien DNA.

I'm in the middle of chatting up with a small girl by the name of Lani when the drums stop. A larger man walks forward, smiling. My experience from movies with tribes in them tells me he's the chief.

"My people," he greets. "We have been graced with the presence of these gods. The Doctor, the River, and the Quigs."

I huff slightly. If the Doctor ever has a kid in the future I weep for the child who has to bear a namesake he's chosen.

"Now, our soothsayer, Aulani, who was given to us many months ago, will choose the proper sacrifice," the chief announces.

I see both the Doctor and River frown. I don't know why, though, it's probably just a pig or something. And I know for a fact that our group isn't vegetarian.

Aulani stands up and glances around the circle of villagers, giving a lopsided smile and shuffling up to the bonfire. She looks like a normal teenager with stage fright, not a vicious soothsayer who looks like she could slit your throat is she wished to.

But, as soon as the thought crosses my mind, she disappears behind the fire and reappears with a devious smirk on her face. I swear I can almost _hear_ the change, like a whoosh in the air.

"As you are all aware," she coos, stopping in front of the fire, "when I arrived, you did not know how to honor the gods, our Nalowale. And so the gods gave me the gift to teach you who to worship them. And now, in return, they have given themselves." She gestures to us. "And so, we shall continue our quest to please the gods, with sacrifice. _Proper_ sacrifice. And then the gods shall rest and bathe in our gifts."

Proper sacrifice?

She goes to the circumference of people in the circle, each person flinching slightly. "Now, it is time to choose the sacrifice. And whoever you are, you shall stay here, near the ambers of the fire, until the gods come to retrieve you and bring you to enlightenment."

She lets her hands out and skirts the circle, each person flinching like she's playing some sadistic version of duck-duck-goose. She swiftly moves past us. Did she say 'whoever'? As in, 'a person' whoever?

She slows down and stops in front of a boy no older than nine. I can see him trembling from here, and the tears pricking at the eyes of the man and woman sitting just to the left of him.

"You, boy," Aulani croons. "What is your name?"

He stutters out something I can't hear.

"Louder, please," she demands. She leans forward. "The gods are listening."

"M-My name in Kanoa," he answers, not looking at her.

Aulani's smile grows bigger. "Well, Kanoa, why don't sit over here for a bit while we all get to our homes? It would be a big help, you know."

Kanoa stands up and starts walking. The mother starts crying and weakly tries to reach out for her child, retracting her arm like she's realizing it's too late.

Kanoa sits next to the fire, and Aulani nods to him. She turns towards our group, smirking. "Well then, I suggest you all-" She pauses, and her eyes go wide with confusion. "Um, why I guess it's time to go back our homes, right? Yes, that's right. We should-" Her smirk returns. "We should all rest, including the gods. Come along with me, you three."

The village disperses, leaving us with Aulani, who is walking over with a sickening glint in her eye.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the Doctor asks. "That is a boy—a _small child_." He gestures to Kanoa, who is curled up into a ball next to the slowly dying fire.

"It is as you say, Broken Man," Aulani says. "Everything's got to end sometime, or else nothing would begin." She walks past us. "Follow me; we have a house prepared for you."

We stand, and I glance back at the boy. "Shouldn't we do something?"

"We're doing all we can right now," River informs me. "We're investigating."

I gulp and follow Aulani with the others back into a hut with three mats laid out.

"Rest for a while," she suggests. "The journey must've been taxing."

"We're not tired," the Doctor says slowly. "Now tell me, Aulani, what the _hell_ do you think you're doing? And how—how did you know I said that, you weren't even there!"

"The Nalowale showed me," she answers. "They show me everything."

"Or do they?" he asks sarcastically. "Well, I'm pretty sure I would've noticed someone watching me, wouldn't I?"

"Hard to notice something you can't see," she remarks. "And yes, they do. They've shown me, Broken Man, you're fate. The water, the quiet. That _haunting_ quiet because you can no longer speak. That mysterious man from the stars, firing-"

"Enough!" the Doctor bursts, taking a deep breath. He takes a step towards Aulani until he is in her face, but she doesn't shrink away. "I want answers, and I want them _now._ How in the whole of the universe could you possibly know about that?"

Aulani cocks her head to the side. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but hour of questions is over. It's bedtime."

And that's when he drops.

It's not a sudden drop, but his knees give out. Then he stumbles back, falling to the ground with wide eyes.

My vision starts getting fuzzy, and I begin to lose feeling in my toes. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my sight, but it just keeps getting worse and keeps adding more black spots to itself.

I can feel River knock against me, and I know she's experiencing the same thing.

"What did you do?" the Doctor asks, but it's slurred and comes out as "Wha' di' 'oo do?"

Even in the fuzziness I can see a handful of small white pills in Aulani's hand. "A gift for the Nalowale, made so that even the best of the gods would rest. Small pebbles easily ground into your food. Oh, the gifts those ones bring." I see her gulp, and the wide-eyed look comes on again as I crash onto one of the nearby mats. "Oh, dear. I—well, I guess this is goodnight then, yes? Um, I'll…I'll see you in the morning."

She looks absolutely horrified, and the last thing I see is her running out of the hut as quick as she can.

**#**

_It's so bright._

_I can almost feel it, how bright it is. And how dangerous. It's a simple cylinder, glasslike tube. But one press of a button and you're set. You're done._

_I scream as they drag the Doctor towards it, and it looks like he's given up. He's given in. "It's you or me," he said. "And I can't let my want get in the way again."_

_I'm bleeding, and dirty. But they're dragging him almost. His feet are drawing lines on the floor, scraping them with a horrible sound._

_No, no, no._

_He's an idiot. An absolute idiot._

_Flashes of things now. I'm out of the cuffs that were restraining me, I'm running towards him._

"_One or all," that's what they said._

_I guess I'm that one._

_The ground going out underneath my feet. Landing with no return, landing in arms._

_Blackness, whiteness. Everything, nothing._

_All there, all in me._

_It's time to end this bitch of a problem anyways. I've been enough._

_The Doctor yelling. Me pressing on something and jumping._

_I can see it. I can see everything._

_And sadly it's not going to last very long, in the end._

I feel my nerves jolt me awake and I sit up, looking around at the hut which is bathed in moonlight.

"Dream," I remind myself. "Just a stupid dream, come on Jenna, don't be so dumb. Everything's…alright." I breathe out the last word as I look up.

It's here.

Drenched suit, large head. Clicking.

"_Change the timeline_," the Silence rasps out. "_Destroy the Doctor_."

I scream for all that I'm worth, closing my eyes and feeling that fuzzy sensation again until the electricity in my nerves jolts me awake.

It's gone.

I take deep breaths. River and the Doctor are still passed out, and there's…

…there's a clicking noise.

It's faint, but noticeable. That clicking noise, usually pertaining to creepy bastards that seem to prey on universe-hopping teenagers.

Still slightly shaken, I slowly rise to my feet and make my way out of the hut.

The campfire is nearby. All that's left is ashes and the sleeping figure of the boy from before, Kanoa.

Oh, and three Silence surrounding him.

I sneak behind one of the huts and watch as the little boy wakes up and attempts to give a helpless scream, but is quiet. He's in shock, open-mouthed.

I watch as one of the silence holds out a wristband in its malformed hand, a back one with a huge cerulean button.

I watch as they latch it onto Kanoa's wrist and press the blue button.

And I watch as they all disappear out of thin air.

I stand there for a moment or two before coming out of hiding. The clicking is gone. They're gone.

I gaze back at the peak of Rano Kau in front of me. It couldn't be…

I concentrate and the image flickers. A gigantic spaceship, just a little ways away from me. Same design, same ominous figure as before.

I run back inside to the hut and start shaking the Doctor and River awake.

"Come on, you guys, wake the fuck up!" I order, shaking the Doctor's arm. I go over the River and lightly tap her face. "We've got problems here, big problems!"

River inhales sharply and opens her eyes. "What?"

"Aulani, sleeping pills, sacrifice," I recap. "And aliens, too."

She gets up.

I tug my vacant mat off of the ground and throw it on the Doctor's face, who sputters and after a moment or two of struggling manages to successfully throw the mat off and look at me wordlessly.

"There's aliens," I explain simply.

He nods. "Right. To the TARDIS!"

The village stays sound asleep as we run towards the ship, crashing through the doors. I go up to the scanner and turn it on.

"Okay, girl, I know you can hear me," I say. "So don't try to pull any bullshit right now, okay?"

"Jenna, what are you doing?" the Doctor asks.

I ignore him. "Translate 'Nalowale' into English, did you hear that? I need you to translate it, now."

It does.

And the growing estimation creeps back into my mind and I feel shivers go down my spine.

"Nalowale," River reads. "It translates to…" She trails off, because given her experience even River Song would fear saying it.

I gulp and nod. "The Forgotten."

**#**

**Merry Christmas?**

**I'm so sorry this has been late, but I have break now so I'll be able to update quicker (hopefully).**

**In other news, the Christmas special confused the heck out of me and made me cry. So, it was another spectacular episode. I got a new phone and Eleven's sonic for Christmas, so overall it was brilliant.**

**My Christmas episode should be arriving in January, unfortunately. But I hope you'll be okay with that.**

**One or two more parts to this, then onto the interlude.**

**See you then!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	23. The Malihini, Part 4

**So, Doctor Who comes back in April.**

***silently weeps***

**At least the fandom is slightly revived now, albeit confused. Anyways, all my other rantings are at the bottom, as usual.**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

It's quiet for a couple moments.

River lets out a shuddering breath and I can hear the click of her hand tightening around her gun in an unconscious reflex. The Doctor stumbles back and falls onto the seat. I, myself, have my head leaning against the monitor, hands bracing the console's handle.

"So the Nalowale…" the Doctor trails off.

"Are the Silence," River finishes. "And they've been controlling the village for months."

"Wouldn't they have figured out that they were being oppressed by now?" I ask. I stay in my position, not daring to look past the pixelized translation in front of my face.

"You humans are wonderfully optimistic as a whole," the Doctor explains. "Most of you, the majority of you—you look to see the goodness in everybody, and are inclined to forgive the mistakes to keep companionship. You are inclined to trust."

"Trusting people is stupid," I mutter.

The Doctor pauses. "Well, some of the time it is, but most of the time it's a wonderful thing." I hear him stand up. "Now, we have a few questions that need answering, don't we?"

"Mountain's a perception filter," I say, answering one of the queries he hasn't yet said. "It's cloaking the actual spaceship. Which, mind you, is big."

"How big?" the Doctor asks.

"Big enough to make up for an entire god damn _mountain_," I retort, turning around.

"How can you know that?" River asks.

I blink, realizing that River doesn't _know_, and its something I've just easily accepted for the past month that I've been on the TARDIS, because it was only the Doctor and I and we both knew fairly well the side effects of being from another universe.

"Uh…well, you see…I can see past perception filters," I explain. "You know, if I concentrate. Leaves a migraine and if I concentrate too long I pass out. But yeah."

"So what did this spaceship look like?" River asks, unfazed by my explanation.

"Um…" I hum slowly, "I don't _know_ exactly, it was kind of quick. But it was big! And…black on the inside, yeah. I remember, from Aulani's place. The inside was black."

"It's a hive," River says immediately. "The whole ship is a hive."

"Hive?" I ask.

River nods. "When they're not on Earth, they lodge in hives."

"And how would you know?" I ask.

She falters. "I have my sources, but that doesn't matter." She turns. "Doctor?"

The Doctor is sitting in a thinking position, frowning.

"Doctor," River repeats, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

He jumps back. "Hmm? Right, sorry. Thinking." He stands up again. "River, you said the hives are used for when they're not in the tunnels, correct?"

"Yes," she answers, nodding once.

The Doctor smiles. "And the tunnels are on Earth, correct?"

She nods again.

"Ah, River Song! Beautiful, clever, _wonderful _River Song. Tell me, then, why is a hive ship here, on the Earth, then?"

Her eyes widen. "It's a crashed ship, isn't it?"

He claps, smile wider than ever. "Yes, yes! Brilliant River Song, yes!" He grabs her and kisses her. "Yes!"

River smirks. "I guess I should be brilliant more often."

"Oh, you always are," he says. He turns to me. "And Quigs! Strange, funny, _fantastic_ Quigs!"

I hold my hands up. "Please don't kiss me."

"Wasn't planning to," he answers. "But, tell me this: crashed Silence ship and disappearing people. Sound familiar?"

The realization hits me. "It's just like back at my neighborhood."

"Exactly!" he yells.

"So the people are being used for energy?" I guess.

"Yes!"

"And they've been manipulating people into willingly giving themselves over to be used as fuel?"

"Yes! Oh, I love it when people are brilliant!"

Something tickles my brain and I frown. "But wait…why are they having people give themselves over instead of just taking them like they did before?"

"Because they're parasites, remember? Always getting others to do their bidding. Lazy, _lazy_ species if you ask me. And where you're from they're powers are practically useless, so they had to do things for themselves. But here, oh _here_ they have a puppet to do their dirty work."

"Puppet?" I ask.

River gasps. "Oh."

The Doctor nods. "Yeah?"

"That makes—"

"Yes."

I frown. "Uh, I'm still not getting it."

The Doctor laughs and runs down the stairs. "Come along, Pond. Quigs. We need to pay a visit to Aulani."

**#**

When we get to the soothsayer's hut, it's dark outside. Obviously, we haven't been knocked out for long, and the moon is high above our heads as we run up the side of the mountain that shouldn't…well…_be_.

The Doctor has decided to throw manners out the door as usual and crash into the hut, somewhat knocking the door a little off of its hinges.

Aulani's there, sitting on the ground with her knees drawn up. She looks up at us and scurries backwards a bit, knocking into one of the many drapes in the hut and getting a little tangled. She holds her hands above her face is defense.

"I'm sorry!" she yells immediately, and starts talking a mile a minute. "I'm sorry I sent you to sleep, I'm sorry I sent that little boy off I'm sorry, I am so sorry I—I didn't mean to, I didn't _want_ to do it, but they sneak inside my ears and weave themselves into my head and I have no choice but to obey and I'm…I'm sorry."

And then it's quiet for a moment, because the Doctor looks like he doesn't know what to do next. And I give him credit, too, because this is not Cunning Aulani, no. This is nervous, gentle, jittery, frightened Aulani who looks lost half of the time.

"Aulani," River says calmly. "Everything is going to be okay, we're not going to hurt you."

She lowers her hands from her face. "But—but I went against you. Sabotaged you, I—I deserve to be punished."

"But that wasn't you, was it?" I ask.

She gulps. "It was my body and my voice, wasn't it? I don't remember a lot, but that doesn't mean it wasn't me."

"There is a difference between acting out things deliberately or being _forced_ to do things," the Doctor says suddenly, staring at her.

"But it feels so natural; w-when they do it. Like I'm falling into sleep," she reasons.

"Well we 'feel into sleep', didn't we? And that wasn't natural," I argue, but immediately wish I could sew mouth shut as I watch her flinch.

"You mention a 'they'," the Doctor points out. "Who is 'they'?"

"The Nalowale," she answers. "Ever since I was given here, they've entered my head like small voices, feeding into my nights and days and never stopping."

"And what do they sound like?" the Doctor asks.

"Deep and like sand on rock," she describes in a shaky voice.

"And do they ever stop?" he asks quietly, like she's a child.

She shakes her head. "No."

I release the breath I don't know I've been holding. "What are they saying now?"

She looks to me. "They—they say I am weak, that I should be running."

"And do you want to run?" River asks.

"No, no I don't," she whispers. "But…my legs ache. Like I should be running."

The Doctor is silent for a couple moments before taking out the sonic and tapping it against his chin twice in a contemplating manner. "You said you were given to the village, yeah?"

"What is that?" Aulani asks, pointing to the screwdriver and completely ignoring his question.

"What, this?" the Doctor asks, pointing to the aforementioned object. "Sonic screwdriver." He tosses it in the air and catches it. "It can scan things, open things, close things…relatively harmless, if used in the correct way." He points it at her like a teacher would in a classroom. "But you didn't my question. How, in fact, were you 'given' to the village?"

She pauses for a second before speaking. "I-I had been in the water for five days, on a plank of wood and unconscious, and I washed up here with all the voices and knowledge and they took me in."

"How do you know you were out in the water for five days if you were asleep?" I ask.

She shrugs. "I don't know. I woke up on land and I just _knew_ that I had been there five days."

"But this island is out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, how you reach here in five days from anywhere else?" I ask, slightly bewildered. I frown. "Do you remember where you were before here?"

She shakes her head. "No, no I don't. It's always been this."

River frowns. "Doctor, you don't think she's-"

"There's one way to find out," he interrupts, and walks towards Aulani.

"What's he doing?" I whisper to River.

"Something less idiotic than what I think he's doing, I hope."

He squats in front of the girl, who's looking rather frightened and confused.

"Aulani," he muses. "What does that name mean, in your language?"

She frowns. "M-Messenger of the gods."

"And right you are, aren't you?" he asks. He pauses. "Aulani, I'm going to ask you to do something…"

"Please don't kill me," she injects, ducks her head into her hands and covering her hands. "I didn't mean any harm, I'm sorry."

"For the last time, we're not here to hurt you," the Doctor persuades gently. "We're here to help, and in order to do that you have to do as I ask."

She doesn't lift her head up, but nods.

He shifts slightly. "Now, I'm testing out a theory here and in order to prove it, no matter how much the Nalowale argue against it, you have to try to aid me, okay?"

She nods again, still keeping her head in her hands.

"Ever since you can remember, Aulani, there's been a feeling, hasn't there? A tugging at your skin, a tenseness everywhere around you. Am I correct?"

She nods.

"And every single time you've wanted to just relax everything, let the tension go, the Nalowale have advised you against it, correct?"

Another nod.

"Okay, brilliant. I'm going to say to you, Aulani, that the Nalowale aren't as they seem. They aren't…gods. They're demons. Horrible demons, but you didn't know any better when they approached you." He laughs little. "It can be pretty easy to mix the two of us up. I myself have done it once or twice. But, I need you to do one thing for you, you've got that? One thing. _Relax_."

And slowly, she does. It's visible, almost. The air of worry and tension just sort of…dissipates, and her shoulder slouch. In the candlelight her image flickers, and her dark skin drains out to reveal a oft pale white.

"Could you look at me, Aulani?" the Doctor asks, as if he's asking a kid who just had a nightmare. "Just for a mo?"

Slowly, she lifts her face from her hands. Her eyelashes have gone white, and her features have softened to the point where she kind of looks like Voldemort. The veins are showing just underneath her skin. And her eyes, her eyes are a brilliant silver-white.

"Doctor," I say, realizing what she is. "She's—"

"—Flesh, yes," he says quietly. "Being controlled from somewhere inside the ship."

Aulani looks down at herself and widens her eyes. "What—what am I?"

"You, Aulani, are somewhere inside a spaceship disguised as a mountain," the Doctor answers simply. He starts moving around the room.

"What?" she asks.

I roll my eyes. "He gets a little carried away sometimes." I sigh. "The Nalowale, to put it simply, are a race of beings called the Silence. They most likely abducted you from somewhere else and made a copy of yourself to do their bidding. That's you." I pause "Well, not you. But it sort of is you. It's really fucking confusing, okay?"

"So am I not real?" she asks.

"Oh no, you're real!" I reassure her. "But you're just sort of another version of…you?" I look over to River. "Please tell me I'm being politically correct here, I'm getting a headache just thinking about it."

"Aha!" the Doctor interrupts, fishing around the boiling pot with a spoon. "Found it!"

"Found what, sweetie?" River asks.

"The transmitter," he answers. "All the voices and commands inside her head—they're radio waves. Ways of transmission, oh brilliant! It's like the Flesh and Nestene Consciousness mixed all into one." He looks up and sees the girl who's still curled into a ball. "Well, not so brilliant…but if I could just—ah yes, there we are!" He pulls out something drenched in water, no bigger than maybe a ping pong ball, but covered in wires. "Could be mistaken as a chunk of pork, but you wouldn't want to swallow it. Now…" He pulls out the sonic again and it whirs, directed at the small transmitter.

Aulani puts her hands over her ears and screams. "Make it stop, it hurts!"

The Doctor glances at her and screwdriver begins to whir at a higher pitch.

"Doctor, stop it, she's in pain!" I yell. When he doesn't, I start walking over. River grabs me and stops me.

"Just give him a second," she advises.

The ball makes a "pop"-ing sound and lights up for a moment. The Doctor drops it and the screaming stops. For a couple moments, it's deadly silent and Aualni is stone still, hands grasped on either side of her head and her eyes screwed shut.

Aulani pulls her hands from her ears slowly. "They're gone. The voices, they're gone." For once, she smiles. "I can't hear them anymore!" She pauses, then leaps up and collides into the Doctor. "Thank you, thank you, a million times I thank you!"

"Oh, no problem!" the Doctor says, patting her on the back. "Just another day in the work of being…gods." Aulani lets go of him.

"So what do we do now?" I ask.

"We go get the original Aulani," River says. "And then save the others that we used a sacrifice."

"And after that?" I ask.

"We blow up the ship, of course!" the Doctor asks.

"Woah, what? No, there are _people_ here; we can't just let the ship go up in flames!"

"Well it's either that or the cycle starts over again," River points out. "And history will be forever changed if we keep it as it is."

I sigh. Damn it, she's right. Then nothing will change, and everything will change because of it. History will be mangled and messed up, and that's not good. A huge clusterfuck of horribleness, actually.

I turn to Aulani. "Go gather the villagers, and tell them to evacuate the village. Row out to sea for a bit, maybe. Until the explosion stops. That way nobody gets hurt. You're the messenger, they'll believe you."

She nods, and starts heading out the door. She pauses before exiting, however. "What will happen to me when the ship goes, though? Isn't that where I began?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. You might not make it, this version of you. Or you might survive."

She gulps. "Well, the village is more important, right?"

I smile. "Yeah, of course."

The dark color floods back into her skin and he features sharpen. "well, I better get along then. Thank you, all of you. It has been an honor to be in your presence."

And with that, she is gone.

I turn to the Doctor. "Will she survive if the ship blows up?" I ask.

He averts his eyes from me. "It's highly unlikely. The connection would be cut the minute we awaken the original Aulani."

"Well that sucks," I mutter. "She's such a nice person, it doesn't seem fair."

"Life's usually like that, I'm afraid," River comments.

"How are we going to get into the ship?" I ask.

"Oh, Quigs, that's an easy one," the Doctor scoffs. "We're already inside."

A beat. And then another. "We're _inside_?" I ask.

"Of course," River answers. "This whole illusion ends just before the village, we've been inside the ship for quite a while."

"So why haven't they taken us yet?" I ask. "I mean, we're practically Christmas presents waiting to be open and kidnapped or slaughtered." I gesture to the Doctor. "They've been trying to knock him off for god knows how long." I gesture to River. "You were they're weapon that they lost." I point and at myself. "And me—well, I'm not supposed to even exist here among the other reasons why they want me."

The Doctor frowns. "They have other reasons."

I pause. Well, shit. "It's nothing, I'll tell you later. The point is, why haven't they gone after us yet?"

"They're most likely more focused on getting the ship working again," the Doctor points out. Hestarts looking around the candles standing up in the house. "And there is a possibility that in their timeline, I might already be…" He stops there and continues searching.

At the risk of uncomfortable silence, I start searching as well and use my ability to not keep my mouth shut. "Well then what are we looking for, exactly?"

"The whole area is ridden with perception filters," the Doctor says, examining a candle with the sonic. "However, they're most likely linked together to create the loop of a perfect image. So if we disable one—"

"—we disable all of them," River finishes, pulling out her scanner and pressing a few buttons. It beeps. "Found one." She walks over to a particularly tall candle and puts it out, pulling a rather small looking object the size of a cherry. "It looks like they've finally downsized." And with that that, she crushes the things in between her fingers.

The whole area changes, the house flickering out of view like a bad TV connection. All that's left is a black room with purple lights underneath the gridded floor. Where the door used to be is a small staircase, most likely leading down to the village.

"We're on the outermost part of the hive," River tells us. "The people who were abducted are most likely in the power room, and Aulani's somewhere near the center. Come on."

I'm about to ask her how the hell she knows all of this, when I remember that this is most likely where she spent half of her childhood, going around Silence ships. And I decide that my mouth can keep shut for another moment or so.

There's a door right in front of us, where the fireplace used to be in the "house". We go through it and enter into a hallway similar to the room before: purple lights, grated floors, and black everything else.

"Power room is just a little ways away," River points out. "Come on."

She start running. Nobody's in the hallways at the moment, and the whole area looks almost deserted. It's a little eerie in my opinion.

We make a couple indistinct turns and frankly I'm a little lost. I honestly have no idea where we are. How the hell do people like the Doctor and River so easily navigate these places, they're like extraterrestrial corn mazes.

River pulls out her scanner, which reveals a blue print of the ship, which is sort of diamond shaped and looks like a cocoon. She zooms in the bottom right area, which shows three little orange dots.

"We're the only ones here," she comments. "That's odd. You would think that they would be near the power center if they were trying to leave."

"It's not something to worry about right now," the Doctor says. "This is our chance to retrieve those people, come on!"

He runs, and again I regret skipping out on gm class because _how the hell can you run that fast without feeling like your lungs are going to explode_.

We stop, and I nearly crash into the two of them because I have the reaction time of a septuagenarian on the highway.

"This is it," River says, glancing at her scanner.

"It's a wall," I say bluntly.

River smirks and places her hand on the black metal, and slides it to the right like the thing's an iPad. The wall gives away, smoothly moving past to reveal a blue-illuminated room.

"Okay, it's not a wall," I reconsider.

We enter the room. It's dark, like the rest of the ship, but the purple lights are gone. Instead, ten pods are illuminating the area with a blue hue.

They're lined with five on each side of the room. From what I can see, eight are occupied and two are empty, open and ready for use. They're all glass and are jutting out of the wall, practically suspended in midair. At the end of the pods are screens, filled with information like heart rate, lung capacity, and things like that. And inside each pod is a human being, surrounded by what looks like bluish liquid.

"Wow," I say. "This is…wow. Like, really eerie and creepy."

"They've put human bodies in suspended animation, of course it's eerie and creepy," the Doctor says. He fiddles with the screwdriver. "Now, if I can just remember the frequency I used back at your neighborhood…"

I walk up to one of the pods containing an elderly man. I laugh a little in spite of myself. "You know, these pods…" I trail off.

"They what?" River asks, curious.

I shake my head. "Doctor!" I call out.

"I'm busy!" he whines.

"But don't these pods remind you of the containment units from the _Hesperidia_?" I ask.

He frowns, and looks up. "Pardon?"

I point to the pod. "The things they used to carry the Evos."

He blinks, still frowning. "I'm sorry Jenna, but what are you talking about?"

Now it's my turn to be confused. "You know, the Evos? Benny? Captain Whirly and her psycho nanobots?"

"I'm sure that must've been a dream," the Doctor says. "Or one of my stories. That never happened with you."

I gape. "It was my first adventure here, remember? It was just before we went to China, you know with the terracotta Cybermen and chow mien?"  
Her frowns for another moment before smiling. "Oh, pulling my leg again, are you, Quigs? Good one."

I sputter. "W-What? Come on, it was right after you found me out, how could you not remember that?"

"As I recall, our first adventure was where we went to the planet of Galigon," the Doctor informs me. "I don't think I've ever encountered the _Hesperidia_, or the Evos. And even if I did, I'm pretty sure it was before you arrived." He dismisses it all. "We can talk about this later. I think if I just tweak the cooling cells a bit…"

"You don't remember?" I ask in a whisper. "How can you not remember?"

The sonic whirs and the pods opens, letting the blue liquid flood onto the floor. The person inside, a middle-aged woman, sputters and coughs.

"Where am I?" she asks.

"You're in hell," River says, "but we've come to get you out of here and back into the land of the living."

We open up the rest of the pods, telling the people that everything will be alright and that we're going to get them out of here. Kanoa looks like he's going to have a panic attack, and what little kid who just encountered kidnapping aliens wouldn't? The others look troubled, but not as frightened, even at the notion that they're in hell. I guess the thought of leaving hell is more of the pick-me-up.

Once we get everyone out, the Doctor turns to me. "Go and take them into the TARDIS."

I frown. "What?" I ask.

"Get these people out of there and get them inside the TARDIS," the Doctor says. He pulls out a key. "Here, take it. We'll grab Aulani and meet you there."

He takes my hand and forces the key onto my palm. I gaze at it. "Is this yours?" I ask.

"No, it's yours," the Doctor says. "Been meaning to give it to you, but really take these people and go."

I smile. "My own TARDIS key, really? Like, really, really?"

He looks slightly irritated. "Yes, yes! Go, we don't have much time! Two lefts and a right, there should be a staircase."

I have a key to the TARDIS.

_I have a fucking key to the TARDIS_.

If nobody dies then this will have possibly the best adventure I've been on so far.

I nod, clasping the key in a tight grip and rounding up everyone. Once it looks like everyone is together I give the Doctor and River one last nod before making our grand escape.

What did the Doctor say again? Two lefts, then a right. Then the door, which will most likely slide out. Then staircase, then TARDIS. Okay, simple.

It's still empty, the ship. And it's even more unsettling now. Shouldn't there have been alarms going off if their power supply has been—oh I don't know—_let loose?_

I shush the villagers and tell them to keep quiet, following the Doctor's instructions. I reach the hallway and place my hand on the wall, sliding it to the right. It gives away easily.

Too easily, if I think about it.

But I don't, and I get everybody into the room and have everyone line up for the staircase, me going first to make sure nobody's out there. We trot down the stairs at an accelerated pace, and halfway through the stairs the cover ends and we're outside on a grated and fragile series of platforms.

We pause for a quick moment, looking down at the long drop underneath our feet.

"We've got to keep moving, come on!" I urge on, and we cautiously run down the grate.

The village isn't that far away, and when we get there, and in that I'm able to look up.

Oh.

That is a really, _really_ big ship.

I approach the TARDIS and grasp the side of the box to keep myself steady. I'm greeted with a small static shock.

"Oi, it's not the time for opinions!" I shout at it. I jam the key in a turn, opening the door. "Get inside, all of you. Don't touch anything."

They pile in, and Kanoa is the last to enter. He looks up at me. "What is your magical box?" he asks. "Is it a gateway to heaven?"

I get caught off guard. "Uh…yeah. It leads you to heaven. Now, go inside."

He walks in and I smile to myself. Huh, I just saved people. Like, actually saved them with physical action.

I feel fantastic.

Of course, that's when everything goes to shit.

I feel the tug on my arm and hear the click of something on my wrist. I shut the door and turn around.

"_Destroy the Doctor_," the Silence hisses. Everything turns white.

And them, for what seems to be the thousandth time in a row, I pass out.

**#**

**I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I AM SO SORRY I TOOK THIS LONG**

**ALSO THANK FOR OVER 100 REVIEWS I LOVE ALL OF YOU**

**I'm sorry it's been taking so long, but this storyline is just sort of boring me right now and I really can't wait to move to the next one (and especially the one right after that).**

**You guys have all been wonderful, and I hope you all had a Happy New Years!**

**Reviews are welcomed, along with follows and favourites if possible.**

**See you in a week or so!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	24. The Malihini, Part 5

**HOLY GOD YES THIS STORY ARC HAS COME TO AN END**

**This whole plot was difficult the write, oh my god. If you've enjoyed this, then you're an angel because I have to say I'm not a fan of my writing in this arc. Seriously, bless you and your cow. Wow.**

**Sorry this took so long, this chapter was just a doozy to write.**

**Anyways, time to wrap this up!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

I wake up on the ground in front of the TARDIS.

I blink a couple times, and stand up, spitting the dirt out of my mouth. What just happened? I dust the rest of the dirt that's on my shirt and look up to see the TARDIS doors.

I remember little things…bright lights and gravelly voices that are talking about cages and fate, waking up in darkness and what the hell just—

_It was just a bad dream_.

The voice sounds like its coming from everywhere, like there are speakers all around me. I look around. Nobody. That's weird.

Hey, don't judge me, alright? I'd just woken up—sort of—after a fairly momentous event.

I fish through my pockets. Okay, got my cell phone and key. Everything's good.

So why do I feel like I'm missing something?

I shake my head loose and place the key inside the lock, turning it to the side and gaining entrance to the console room.

When I get inside, the first thing I look over is the villagers. I count all of them. Okay, they followed instructions; good. They've got the widest eyes I've ever seen, I can tell you. Wow. I mean, the TARDIS in it of itself is amazing to a person who lives in the age of touchscreen phones and dolls that actually wet their diapers, I can't imagine what it's like for someone who hasn't even seen electricity.

"Sorry about that," I say, grabbing their attention and closing the door behind me. "I got caught off guard."

"By what?" a young woman asks me.

I frown, thinking. A flash of blue light, deep voices, cold steel, then…nothing. And suddenly I'm here.

"I don't know," I confess. "I don't…remember."

"You were gone for quite some time," the woman points out. "We were worried demons had attacked you."

Big hands, grabbing me, strapping me down. Screaming, no, please no.

_It's all just a bad dream_.

I should be freaked out by a voice in my head, but my body does the exact opposite and calms down. Everything will be perfectly fine.

I smile. "No demon is getting near me without getting a painful kick in the balls, hon."

She frowns. "Balls?"

I blink a couple times. "Uh, you know what? How about I contact the Doctor and River to see how they're doing?"

I hop up to the console and pull up the scanner. How am I going to contact the Doctor, anyway? Why did I even say that? I didn't mean to. In fact, I was just about to say the exact opposite. They're busy trying to blow a whole ship up. Must still be hazy for conking out in front of the TARDIS.

How did that happen, anyway?

_It's nothing you need to worry about._

I turn around. "Did any of you say something?" I ask.

They all shake their heads.

"Oh," I say, frowning. "Okay." I turn back to the TARDIS console. "Alright, got to find the Doctor. Think you could help me out, old buddy of mine?"

I tap the console and receive a rather large shock, one that makes my arm tingly for a couple moments.

"Fuck!" I curse. "What did I do to you?"

The room hums in response.

"Yeah, I don't speak time machine," I remind her. I shake my head. "Listen, do you have a sort of walkie-talkie system with the Doctor I could use? I've got to contact him and River."

The controls beep impatiently, as if they're pretty much saying, "I already told you", in a really smartass attitude.

"Do, you didn't!" I say. "You _hummed_. I'm not a goddamn Time Lord, I don't speak fluent machine…I barely speak fluent English! I just need to talk to him. Please."

The sound of the scanner being turned on echoes through the room, the high-pitched whine singing loud like it's an old television. I rush over, with all eyes on me, and read the words off of the screen.

"Identification required," I mumble. "Voice recognition, say the phrase…" I squint. "Oh, I am not saying that. You're doing this for your own enjoyment, aren't you?"

_Contact him. Now._

My mouth moves on its own accord, and I just sort of stand there as I quickly blurt out the phrase.

"My name is Quigs," I say in a rapid succession of words. For a moment, my whole body seizes up, but then loosens just afterward.

Something's not right. Not at all.

But I don't have time to worry about that. The screen flickers and the noise of a phone calling in comes from the speakers of the scanner.

"What is that noise?" Kanoa asks.

I look over to him. "This is the way the gods talk to each other, when we're away," I explain as simply as I can.

The dial tone continues for a couple more moments before the screen flickers, sending waves of static around the monitor before it clears up to a close up of the Doctor's face.

"Doctor!" I say, waving. "Hi."

"Jenna, is that you?" he asks.

I frown. "Who else would I be?"

"I don't know, I'm caught off guard," he says. River mutters something next to him and he responds in a hushed voice before turning his attention back to me. "What do you need to talk to me about, and how did you get to the calling system? I'm very busy, you know."

"I know," I say, shrugging. "And I just asked nicely. It is a phone booth, you know. Got to have some sort of communication." I pause. "And as to why I'm calling you, I…uh."

"What? Is something wrong?" he asks, looking concerned.

Yes, something is wrong. I passed out, can't remember anything, there's a voice in my head, and I'm speaking against my will.

"No," I answer automatically. "Just calling in to say I got everybody inside."

He frowns. "Hardly a reason to call in."

"Oh, shut up," I say. "Are you guys almost done yet?"

"River's setting the ship to blow in a half an hour, at the most. We were able to find…" He stops for a second and struggles with a blue roll of paper. "…find some blueprints, we're 85% sure we know where Aulani is being held."

"Only 85%?" I ask, getting skeptical.

"I can never say I'm certain about anything, otherwise I'd be lying," he says.

I ponder this for a moment. "But don't you lie about everything?"

"Exactly. You already know everything, so why lie? It's useless."

I nod at this. "Good point. So what room do you think Aulani's in?"

"The control room looks to be the spot," the Doctor says, looking at the blueprints. "Room 237, yeah."

Something in me rubs wrong. "I don't think that's a good idea."

He looks up at me. "You don't?"

"Yeah," I tell him. "I don't know. Something just sound…comfortable to me. Maybe their someplace else?"

"Like where?" he asks.

I shrug, and the idea hits me. "The storage room? Pretty ambiguous. They're probably being held there."

This makes the Doctor concerned yet again. "They? There's just Aulani."

No there isn't.

_Yes there is._

"Sorry—must have slipped. Yeah, Aulani's there." A high-pitched noise suddenly comes out from nowhere, ringing in my ears and giving me a bad headache. I grip my forehead. "Probably."

"Quigs?" the Doctor asks. "Are you alright?"

"Peachy," I respond automatically through gritted teeth.

There's a pause, and the image blurs a bit until I'm met with River's face.

"Oh," I say. "Hi, River." The headache intensifies.

"Jenna, I need you to answer my questions correctly, alright?" she asks.

I gulp. "Y-Yeah, sure. No problem."

"What happened on the way back to the ship?" she asks.

"Uh, I passed out," I confess, and I feel like I'm speaking with pneumonia and my words are just barely getting through. "Knocked my head on the doors, I think—no, no there was blue. Bright blue light. And a voice."

River nods. "Okay. And Jenna, have you been hearing any voices?"

_No no no no no no._

"Ye—nnn…." I struggle, and I feel like collapsing onto the floor. I look around. The villagers are surrounding me, worry written all over their faces.

"Yes," I hiss, finally getting the word through. The ringing in getting louder and louder each moment.

River says something, but I can't hear her. I try to concentrate.

"Jenna, did you hear me?" she asks.

I shake my head. "Nope."

"I said I need you to try to access your files. It's done by touch recognition."

"What the bloody fuck will that do?" I seethe, getting frustrated because god damn it my head hurts, there's an annoying noise in my ears, and it just needs to _stop._

"It's testing a very strong hypothesis, sweetie," River says, sounding calm and collected. "And I need answers now, for the sake of you and Aulani, you hear me?"

I nod and take my hand off of my forehead to minimize the call window and search through the files. Okay, TARDIS inhabitants. Go to companions. Scroll down. Rose, Martha, Donna, Jack, Amelia, Rory, River…and there's me.

"Place hand on TARDIS console," the white text says. I place my left hand down firmly.

There's a little ellipses on the screen for a moment or two until a huge, red 'ACCESS DENIED' appears.

I frown and place my down again. ACCESS DENIED. Again, and again. DENIED. DENIED.

I maximize the call window to see River looking at me.

"I can't get in," I tell her. "Why can't I get in?"

She nods. "Just as I thought," she mutters. She looks off screen. "Doctor, we have a change in plans."

This makes me even more anxious. "What is it? What's 'just as you thought'?"

She licks her lips and looks at me with pity. "We're coming to get you, alright? Just stay inside the TARDIS, and don't move. Try to fight anything that feels odd, as hard as you can. We'll be there in five minutes, maximum. Did you get that, Jenna?"

I frown. "Yeah, but why—"

The monitor goes black.

I wait a minute, just to see if maybe it was a glitch. When it stays put, I hit it with my palm and turn around. The villagers look at me with worry.

"What?" I ask. "Gods get frustrated, too. To err is human." I wince. "Well, not exactly human. It's more of a universal thing."

"You're acting just like her," one of the elder residents points out.

I look at him. "Like who?"

"The messenger," he explains. "Aulani. When we first approached her, she was in the same pain you were in. Saying odd things, doing odd things. I guess being a god, it is not very abnormal, but to us we were quite frightened."

I can feel whatever color I had left in my face drain away. "What?" I croak.

_Don't believe them._

My eyes go wide. "No, no. That can't be right. I'd remember them. Unless…" I look up at my hand, and become aware of the vague irritation crawling all over my skin. "Unless I was made here."

The young woman from earlier frowns. "Malihini, are you alright?"

I shake my head. "No. No, I'm not."

This can't be possible. I can't be…_that._ I've got all the same memories, all the same traits. I am myself, not a copy. I'm not a copy, I can't be. I am real. I am Jenna Allison Quigley, born the 15th of November. For the first fifteen years of my life I lived in a small suburb of Portland, Oregon, until a mad police man showed up on my front door and I offered him a couch. The police man turned out to be the Doctor. I snuck aboard the TARDIS for…a couple hours? No, it had to be longer. It was a week, right? I know it was a week. But I can't remember it being a week. And what did we do afterward? There was a ship, right? No, there was Galigon. The Doctor told me, right before he met me, he went on a ship full of mutants. Saved them all.

Right?

_Quigs? Quigs, can you hear me?_

The voice has the same soothing voice, but its tone is different.

"Doctor?" I ask.

_Don't worry, I got a hold of the transmitter. We're here, Quigs, you got that? We're here to save you_.

"Doctor, what's going on?" I inquire, feeling more panicked by the second.

_You'll find out soon enough. Now, I just need you to relax, okay? You're going to feel a little…tingly._

I gulp, but take it as my best bet. He's the Doctor, he knows best. I let myself relax, and I feel very molecule begin to fall apart inside of me, starting with my feet. I fall away into nothing.

And then it all comes back.

**#**

_Passing out is my least favorite of activities, even if I do it a lot._

_I groan, when I wake up, blinking back the sharp light that greets my eyes. Where am I, the dentist? I shift slightly, shutting my eyes closed again. My arm hurts, a lot. I open my eyes again and adjust to the light as it shrinks from almost-heavenly to a small bulb above my head._

_Oh, and the three Silence peering over me._

_If this isn't déjà vu I don't know what is._

"You haven't been following orders_," one of them, I don't know which, says in a low, gravelly voice._

_I try to sit up, but I'm being held back on my hands and feet. "Well, to be fair, I didn't set myself up to be commanded, did I?"_

"You were supposed to destroy the Doctor_," they remind me. "_You were meant to follow destiny._"_

"_Yeah, and destiny's an ironic son of a bitch, so I decided not to listen to him," I retort. "I never wanted to do anything related to it, what made you think I would do it anyway?"_

"We are the shapers of civilizations_," one of them growls. "_Guiding the whole of humanity. You are the unexpected one, but just one alone._"_

"_Sorry to disappoint you, buddy, but you kind of fucked that little notion up. Different universe, comprende? Different light waves, different reactions."_

"We are very aware of that_."_

"_Then what makes you think I'd do your dirty work?"_

"Silence will fall when the question is asked. The unexpected shall follow the guided task_."_

_Okay, you've got me there. I gulp and look down at myself. Clothes are the same, shoes are the same. I shift my legs, feeling a small metal object scrape against my leg and a larger one just rub against my thigh, along with a small crinkling sound. Okay, contents of my pockets are the same, still got the TARDIS key. _

_I shift again, and my arm twinges in pain again. I look down and see that a perfect square of skin has been cut off of my arm, about a millimeter thick._

"_What did you do?" I ask._

"You have not been following orders_," they say, "_and so, a newer you shall do as we ask._"_

_I frown, and look around at the room I'm in. Not just a black interrogation room, no. There are lights. Three lights to be exact. Two a steady orange, one white as the one above my head._

_Two tables underneath orange lights, with wires and cuffs and monitors. One occupied, one vacant._

_One with Aulani sleeping peacefully on top._

_The white light is a container, one that looks like a huge meta bowl with outlets attached. The remnants of a white liquid run down the sides, almost drying._

"_No," I say. "No, you can't do that to me, no. I'll fight back, I won't do it."_

"Amelia was just as resistant_," they tell me. _

_I gulp. "No, no. You're not—you're not doing that to me, no. I won't allow it."_

"There is nothing you can do to change your fate_," they say. I feel the cuffs loosen._

"_And what is my fate?" I ask._

"You already know_," they grind out. "_You have it in your pocket_."_

_The cuffs on my wrists come off completely, allowing my arms free range. I could punch one of these fuckers and try to run for my life. But this is interesting. I mean, it's about my fate, how I'm going to end up. So I fish out the contents of my pockets. My phone, a crumpled piece of paper, and the TARDIS key, which I've got an iron-tight grip on._

"Open the paper_," they order._

_I look up at them, confused. What was this paper doing here, anyway? I open it, and find two words neatly written typewriter-style that I had read earlier._

"_The Cage," I read aloud. "What's the Cage?"_

_They don't answer me._

"_Being cryptic won't help you," I say. "It's just makes you irritating."_

"The Cage is your destiny_," they say. "_You will destroy the Doctor. You will lead him to the Cage_."_

"_Like hell I will," I say. "You can't make me."_

"Yes we can_," they say. The legs cuffs come off, and I'm grabbed by the shoulders._

_I kick back, trying to target something along the lines of their nuts. Do Silence have nuts? I hope to god they do, or else I'm just making myself really tired for nothing._

_Surprisingly, the bastards are strong. Really strong, in fact. I always imagined them being flimsy and easily beatable, like the one kid who skipped two grades and is now in your junior-level math class even though he's twelve. But no, these dudes are tough to overcome._

_I'm forced off of the table I was lying on and made to stand up, which feels really weird since all the blood is being rushed out of my head. It doesn't help, and they move a little faster towards the other table filled with wires and things._

_It's at this point that I'm downgraded to screaming._

"DOCTOR!"_ I screech as loud as I can. "_DOCTOR!_" _

_I kick a little more but it's in vain, and they get me onto the table with a thunk. My head hits the metal surface, and I slowly start to fade out as I feel wires and straps and other things connect to my body._

_At the last moment, I hear someone gasp, as if they just woke up, before everything turns black._

**#**

I feel the jolt go through my body, the feeling of being _alive_ again, after practically dying. I feel my gut drop several stories down and raise itself back up again and open my eyes with a gasp. It's all bright light, and for a second I'm convinced I _have_ died. But as quick at the light came its blocked by a rather large, geeky head I recognize very well.

"Quigs, can you hear me?" he asks, slowly. And I can, just barely. Everything's a little hazy and I'm experiencing shock. It sounds like he's talker underwater.

I nod. "Yeah." My voice sounds gravelly. I clear my throat. "Yeah, I can."

"Do you remember?" he asks.

I pause and evaluate myself. Silence capturing me: check. The Cage and destiny crap: check. Silence pulling a Demon's Run on me: check. I feel a flutter of relief as I remember stowing on the TARDIS and Benny and the _Hesperidia_.

I nod. "Yes, I remember everything." I sigh. "Everything."

"Good. Can you sit up?"

I prop myself up on my elbows and nod after a moment, pushing up and leaning on my arms until I'm able to sit up straight.

I look down at myself. Wires are everywhere, and cuffs holding down my ankles still clasped down. My arms are okay, if you ignore the square that's already scabbing and partially bloody. I rub my forehead and drag my hand over my face.

"You alright?" the Doctor asks me.

"Well, for experiencing being turned into a puddle I think I'm pretty dandy," I joke. I give a weak laugh. "You got Aulani?"

A figure appears from behind him and gulps. "H-Hello." She seems pretty shaken, which is to be expected.

I smile. "Hey," I greet. "Not feeling too hot, eh?"

She frowns. "I don't understand. In fact I feel very warm right now."

I shake my head. "Never mind." I look around to see an empty room. "Where'd all the Silence go?"

"They're currently on the floor begging for mercy," another voice tells me. River appears under the light of the table, smirking and turning to the man next to me. "Doctor, we've got to move. The ship's set to explode in less than ten minutes."

He nods. "Right. Ship. Boom! Definitely don't want to be inside. Yes, let's go."

I shuffle off of the table and sway a little when I get on my feet, jogging as fast as I can before the vertigo-like feeling passes. I blindly follow the others through the corridors, Aulani trailing behind me.

After a bit of time wandering around blackened hallways, I hear River yell, "Five minutes!"

That makes us pick up pace.

Damn it, why is this such a big _ship_? It's not like Silence do much more than mooch and stand creepily in public areas.

We reach the door and burst through into the light. I don't even bother to look down and almost piss my pants again, no sir. No time for fear when in less than five minutes I might be blown to bits. I've already got enough of that as it is.

I stumble over a rock once we hit dirt and try to catch up as everybody speeds ahead of me. A month—a whole god damn month and maybe a week or two after that—and I still can't run at all.

I can see the TARDIS just a little bit ahead, and I start to smile even though every part of me is burning from the inside out.

The Doctor gets there first, unlocking the doors quickly and ushering everybody inside.

"River!" he calls out as she goes through the doors. "Aulani! Quigs!"

"Not Quigs!" I call back, skidding on the ground of the ship and sighing in relief.

He smiles, not dignifying me with an answer, and shuts the door behind him. He runs up to the console and starts maneuvering us out of here in his usual effortless manner, until he gets in front of the scanner and jumps over a spot like it's acid, turning a knob and immediately acting like the spot doesn't exist.

The elder looks at me, wide-eyed. "You—you're alive!" he exclaims.

I shrug. "Of course I am. Why else wouldn't I be?"

"You turned into water in front of us!" he points out, pointing to the console.

I blink. "Oh. Yeah." I formulate a lie. "Well, you see…that's how us gods get around. We turn into mush and turn into—um, not mush—somewhere else."

River's taken to piloting half of the console, talking back and forth with the Doctor.

"Setting coordinates five minutes ahead," River announces.

"What? I already did that."

"No, you didn't. You had us set to Pluto, five _thousand years_ ahead. Check the data, sweetie."

He circles round and checks something, blinking and clearing his throat. "Well…"

I laugh. "Forgot to check the cheat sheet, eh, Doctor?"

His eyes bulge and he swipes his hand over his throat in a quick 'cut it out' motion.

River frowns. "Cheat sheet?"

"Oh, nothing, River!" the Doctor reassures. "Just an inside joke between us. Keep working, you're doing _wonderful_."

She eyes him suspiciously before going back to work.

I walk up the stairs and am greeted at the sight of peachy-colored fluid dripping on the floor. So that's what the Doctor was tripping over.

"That's me," I say, like a dumbass, pointing to it. "Or was me, yeah?"

The Doctor looks back at me with his eyes filled with worry. "Yeah."

I grimace. "Can we get a mop or something? I really don't feel like looking at it."

"Once we save an entire civilization," he promises. "For know, you don't have to look at it. Go down the stairs, or in the hallways."

I frown at him. "You okay, dude?"

He looks back at the console. "I'm fine."

"That's the biggest lie in the universe. You and I both know that."

**#**

There is no wreckage.

When we get out of the TARDIS there are no huge chunks of spaceship piercing the ground or entire corridors floating in the sea. No fire raining down from the heavens or smoke rising into the air. No remnants, no fossils. No nothing.

They've all just disappeared.

It's calm, quiet. We can see the villagers on their boat, a ways off shore. But there are no bodies, no gigantic skeleton of a ship that once was.

We get all the villagers out and into their homes, sending Aulani alongside one of the elders. She seems better, smiling now and definitely looking less high-strung.

"What happened to all of it?" I ask.

"Misplaced," the Doctor explains. "It's a temporal anomaly, something that shouldn't have been there at all. The universe was working to try to get rid of it, set things back in order. After all, the crater formed from the mountain's desolation is a fixed point, can't change. So, the explosion gave it a head start and boom." He snaps hi fingers. "Gone, somewhere else in time where it isn't a fixed point, reappearing right at its same spot. Which, I believe, is in 3,000 years during the fifth World War. People thought it was a kamikaze hovercraft."

I grin. "So, what? It just appears right back in the crater?" I ask.

He shrugs. "More or less. Universe isn't entirely picky, I've come to know. It's more of a general area."

I laugh. "And how do you know this?" I ask.

"How do you think people disappear? Something went wrong and suddenly they're tens of thousands of years in the future while the universe is trying to patch itself up."

"Cool," I comment. I pause. "I mean, not cool in that people are disappearing but cool in that it's all, um, timey and—you know."

He just smiles.

There's a pop in the air as River appears in a flash of light.

"Sent them the message," she says. "They should be rowing in by now, right?" She looks off to the ocean. "Oh, look at them! They're going to worship us now, aren't they?"

"We'll be truly seen as gods," I add.

"With statues and everything," the Doctor adds.

A realization hits me and I grin, clapping my hands together. "Hah! So that's what you guys meant by Easter Island!"

The two time travelers look at me in confusion.

I straighten myself out. "Sorry. Spoilers."

"For the both of us?" the Doctor asks.

I nod. "Oh yeah…"

The Doctor does a 360, surveying the land before turning back to us. "Well, I think everything's in order. I believe it's time to go."

He and River start walking, but I stay behind. "Just like that?"

He turns back to me. "We've got to let history take its course. Now come along, Quigs!"

I take a quick glance back at the village before chasing after them and hopping inside the ship.

**#**

"Alright, Miss River Song!" the Doctor says as he circles the console. His voice catches me off guard from the mindless activity I was doing before, which happened to be rubbing my fingers over the patch of skin that didn't exist anymore on my arm. "Time to get you back to prison!"

River pouts. "Why? I've only been here for a good day, couldn't we make it longer?"

"Nope, besides I have things to do," he explains. "Surely you understand."

"You most certainly have things to do," River grumbles. "I was just hoping I'd be one of them."

He stops and flusters. "River! There are children here!"

I frown. "Oi, I'm fifteen. Not a child. It's not like I haven't had experience on the front."

He gapes at me. "Jenna!"

"What?" I retort. My annoyance fades. "Oh, not like that. I mean, I did make out with that dude Matthias, but I haven't—you know what? Never mind."

"Who's Matthias?" the Doctor asks.

I ponder telling him. "Uh…you know what? Doesn't matter. You don't remember anyway."

He looks at me for one more moment before turning back to River. "I am taking you to Stormcage; that is that. I'll pick you up again in a week or two, but this has certainly been an adventure worthy of a break."

"It's no different from anything else we've faced," I point out.

"No, this is different," he says. "You were taken, you were in danger. True danger not…regular danger."

I knit my eyebrows together. "That doesn't make any se—"

"Jenna, would you mind talking with me for a moment?" River interrupts.

"Uh…yeah, sure," I say, surprised. She starts walking into the hallway and I get up to follow her, stopping finally once we're around the corner and out of the Doctor's sight.

"What'd you want to talk to me about?" I ask. "Is it about my problem, or something? I told, I'll tell him soon. Maybe after this, probably."

"No, I'm here to tell you not to tell him," River says.

I stumble a little. "W-What? But you were saying—"

"You were right," River says. "The Doctor doesn't like to see people age. But he also doesn't like to see them hurt or taken away from him."

I nod. "Yeah?" I ask, still not getting it.

She sighs. "You were, even though it was only for a little bit, in the custody of the Silence. You should've seen him when I told him, he looked horrible. If I didn't know any better, he looked like I just told him you were dead. Though he'd beg to differ, the Doctor doesn't like to encounter things he can't control. It makes him feel inadequate, that he can't do anything." She laughs. "He's so full of himself sometimes."

"But what does that have to do with…this?" I ask, trying to find a good euphemism but failing.

"Like I said. He gets upset over things he can't control. He's an absolute toddler in that aspect. You need to tell him, but make sure it's after he stops looking at you like you're going to break any minute."

I nod. "Okay, yeah. I get it."

**#**

We drop River off at Stormcage. I stay behind as the Doctor escorts River to her cell, and smile when I count the minutes and come to the conclusion he's been with her for almost ten minutes.

When he returns, I've settled down to doodling a mindless drawing in my sketchbook, not really paying attention but more keeping my hands busy, only because I had finished cleaning to goopy Flesh off of the TARDIS key and my phone. I turn back to him and grin.

"Have fun 'escorting' River?" I joke.

He glares at me, ruffled hair and one of his jacket lapels twisted the wrong way.

"I was merely chatting with her," he insists.

I snort. "Sure. I'm just glad I kept here, that would've been awkward." I get an itch in my upper arm and scratch at it, rubbing my nails over the injury from the Silence and pulling my hand away, wincing.

He walks up the stairs and looks at me with concern. "Does it hurt?"

I look up at him. "Hm? Oh, no. Just stings a little."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm absolutely certain."

And that's that. He goes back to tinkering and piloting and I go back to the sketch I was drawing. What was I doodling, anyway? I look down start to pick up where I left off.

The pencil falls from my hand.

It's a rough sketch. A simple glass cylinder, with one silhouette of a person inside, with electricity and light pulsing around them, engulfing them. I hadn't drawn the face yet, but the person looks to be in complete and utter pain, every muscle and limb cringing and their head thrown back.

And around the drawing, in different sizes and styles, is written 'The Cage'.

**#**

**GAH. THIS TOOK TOO LONG.**

**I've got the next story arc planned, mostly.**

**A lot of the reason this came up so long, other than the fact it was hard to write, was the fact I got a huge hit of writer's inspiration from rewatching the Christmas Special and wrote a one-shot . If you guys want to go check it out, that'd be brilliant.**

**I hope to update quicker, hopefully. However, I am going through Dead Week and have Finals next week, so we'll see.**

**Anyways, have a lovely day and review if you can!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	25. Interlude the Third

**NEW STORY ARC.**

**PLOT TWISTS. ANGST. FUNNY BITS. YEAH.**

**No more Easter Island.**

**It's Christmas, you guys.**

**#**

Just to let you know, I threw the sketch book out.

I got a hold of the garbage chute when the Doctor wasn't looking and dumped it into the vortex. Shame, I have to say. There were some good drawings in there. But it had to be done.

He asked me, actually, just a couple minutes ago about where it went. I told him I lost it during my misp—

Well, you'll find out soon enough.

We've done it, kids. We've walked this whole mile. Sure, it's taken about two weeks as a whole to talk myself into a coma, but it's happened. We are pretty much caught up. Almost. We've got one or two more things to get out of the way.

Hey, if it's _you_ who's listening—which for all I know it probably is—I've got to say that for a dude who likes adventure, when something dangerous happens you get very protective. Or maybe it's just towards me.

Seriously, we haven't gone anywhere except Chicago for a bit of pizza. It's been three weeks. I get it, it was…horrible, yeah. I know, trust me, I really do know. But this has gone on for way too long. It happened, and it had its reasons for happening. But now it's done. It always goes like this, now and, actually, a little bit before now. Huh, déjà vu…But anyways, we need to get back to the story. The ranting is over with, finite-o.

So, as I was saying…

A bit of time has passed since Easter Island. Two weeks, to be precise. Two weeks of _nothing_, we never even left. Well, I think the Doctor left, when I was asleep. But I was stuck in this place. Not that I mind it but I don't like having to be inside all the time. When I was five I sprained my ankle after a rather lethal incident with a swing and had to keep in the house for almost three weeks. By the time the doctor said I was good to go I practically ran outside and squealed in joy.

So, one morning, I decide to fix this little problem that has occurred.

I trudge into the console room after a rather restless sleep in one of the multiple bedrooms I've decided to house myself in. Insomnia's been a recent ally, what with dreams of Silence and cages and screaming. I feel a chill run up my spine as I walk on the cold floor with bare feet, and scratch at my bed head. Downsides of short hair: it sticks up everywhere sometimes, especially in my case.

Of course, the Doctor is cheery and pleasant and all very Mr. Rogers, so much I fear a miniature red trolley will come bounding around the corner and take me to the land of Make Believe. He greets me with a wide smile.

"Sleep well?" he asks.

"Like a baby," I seethe. I trot down the stairs. "It's like you're asking to get punched."

"Oh, why the sour mood?" the Doctor asks.

I pick up my cell phone from the passenger seat and check the linear time. It's almost midnight.

"Well, I haven't been sleeping well, obviously," I point out.

His face falls. "Nightmares?"

I caved in about a week afterward and told him about them. Well, mostly about them. "They happen," I confess. "But it isn't just sleeping; it's more of a…trifecta of reasons for why I'm—as you phrase it—'in a sour mood'."

"Oh really?" he asks, intrigued.

"Yeah," I say. I drop my phone back down on the seat and point to him. "And don't you dare say what everybody else says when girls are in a crabby mood or so help me _god_ I will throw you into a snake pit."

He throws his hands up in surrender, but there's obvious confusion on his face.

I sigh. "You know what I mean." Still more confusion. "You do, right?"

"Not exactly, no."

"Are you _serious_?" I yell. "I mean, you've had all these female companions, one would think you'd have known—you know what? Ignore me. Ignore everything I said and just go look up a book on the female anatomy and bodily functions sometime in the future, got it?"

He lowers his hands slowly, still looking like a deer in headlights. "…Got it."

"So, sleep is one of them," I restart, trying to move past the moment. "Another one is the fact that the TARDIS has decided to opt out of vending Lucky Charms."

"Lucky Charms?"

"Cereal with little marshmallows. It's like heaven in a cardboard box."

He considers this. "Alright. And what's the third?"

Ah. Time to make my proposal.

I face him completely with a smug smile on my face. "Oh, I don't know…maybe the fact that we haven't gone _anywhere_?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, Doctor, that we've been inside this box for as long as it takes to grow a bean plant and I'm getting claustrophobic!"

He scoffs. "This is a transcendental time machine, it's impossible to get claustrophobic!"

"Look up impossible in the dictionary, you'll see my face!" I sigh. "I just want to go somewhere. It doesn't have to be anyplace special or dangerous. It can be a grocery store in the middle of Iowa, I don't care. I just need to get out of this god forsaken box!"

"Oi, stop with that! She's a perfectly fine box. No wonder she zaps you."

"Oh, trust me, she's getting as exhausted as I am in this one," I inform him. "I think it's just another day before she attempts to throw me out in the Sahara Desert. We can't be near each other all the time, it just doesn't work. Did you know that yesterday she led me the gardening room?"

"No, but why is that so bad? Gardening's wonderful!"

"Not when the plant from Little Shop of Horrors is waiting at the front door!"

"Oh," he falters, retracting his hands back. "Well I'm sure it was an accident…"

"No you're not," I tell him. I drop into a whining tone. "I need to get outside!"

"There's danger outside," he says, in a very serious tone. "Dangerous things to harm you, and I won't allow that to happen right now. So, the best we can do it stay here, where it's safe."

"Everything has some sort of danger to it," I recite. "Even a spoon."

He frowns. "Why does that sound so familiar?"

I grin. "You said to me once. Hard to have an argument against yourself."

"Oh, trust me I've had plenty of those."

"But have you ever won?"

He stays silent at that.

I walk a couple steps forward. "Listen, I appreciate the father/uncle-y protectiveness and everything. I really, really do, but…I can't just stay inside my whole life. Keeping people away from things just makes them more inexperienced when they encounter it, whether it be danger or drugs or sex or reality in general. You can't run from reality, even if you're living in something like this, which is something out of a kid's wildest dreams. I didn't sign up for this, for keeping away from everything a living a dead life. I signed up to _live_, really live. And living requires risks."

He stares at me for a couple more seconds before dropping his gaze.

"Alright, fine," he gives in. "We'll go someplace."

I sigh. "Good, because it honestly took me twenty minutes to script that whole speech in my head." I hop over to the console and lean against the railing. "So let's go someplace!"

"Ah, not yet," he says, wagging his finger and bopping my nose with it. I scowl and cringe away from him. "I said we'd go someplace, I didn't say when. After all, you're still in your bedclothes."

"Amy was in her nightie and you sent her inside a whale," I point out, grumbling.

"Well I can't just land anywhere, can I?"

I frown. "You do it all the time."

He pauses and waves his hand. "Not the point. I'm starting anew! After all, I've been doing a lot of new things lately, eh? Getting stowaways, travelling between universes…you know, I'm planning on doing a tour."

"Tour?" I ask.

"Farwell tour," he answers. I stutter at that. "Oh, don't look at me like that. We both know what's going to happen."

"Yeah…" I whisper. I laugh a little. "Funny, with everything I had forgotten about Lake Silencio."

"Distraction is one of the best things in the universe, in my opinion," he adds.

I look over to him, still leaning against the rail. "So when exactly are we going someplace?"

"Oh, I just need to get the wormhole restrictor back into a good state, maybe tweak the capacitors a little…"

I know what that means. It's Doctor for 'I'm just trying to keep you off of my case at the moment'. And it's absolutely irritating.

Well, two can play at that game.

"Sounds like quite a list of things to do," I comment with false enthusiasm. I exhale between my lips. "Oh well, I'm sure I can find ways to entertain myself."

He smiles. "Good. You do that."

**#**

I learned early on in my adventures with the Doctor is exactly a fan of my taste of music. Though, to be fair, I found out when he burst in on me jamming to Rise Against and put his hands over his ears, immediately leaving the vicinity.

I never did find out what he was there for…

Anyway.

"—_BISMALLA! Noooo, we will not let you go. Let him go!_"

The music fills the whole room as I hum along to it and smiling at the obviously irritated Doctor, who's trying to ignore everything and focus on sitting in his swing and short circuiting another wire.

Finally, as I dance my ass off above him, he takes his goggles off and looks up at me through the blue glass separating us.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asks, voice at almost shouting level since the music is set high, just as I like it.

"Because a) I lost my headphones," I list, "b) I know you're just prolonging the inevitable—which is stupid, by the way, and c) its Bohemian Rhapsody. You've got to love the Bohemian Rhapsody, be one with Bohemian Rhapsody."

"I'd rather not, now could you turn that down?" He slides his goggles back over his eyes. "I need to work."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, quit your bitchin'," I advise. "I can play any type of music I like as loud as I want. I'm an American, I have rights."

"Not in my TARDIS," he counters. "Here you are a citizen of my domain, I can tell you what rights you do and don't have."

"Please, the 'my roof, my rules' thing is as old as you are," I say. "And even then, who follows them?"

He glares at me for a moment before returning to his work.

The song ends a little while after that and I wait as the mystery of an iPod on shuffle unravels itself.

"_It's astounding. Time is fleeting. Madness takes its toll._"

I break out into a grin and turn to race down the stairs, skidding on the ground in front of the Doctor and going to tug on his arm.

"Come on, quickly!" I beg.

"What?" he asks, sounding worried. He takes off his goggles again. "Why?"

"You'll like this song, I know you will," I say, tugging on his arm again. "Now come on, before the dancing part starts!"

I manage to drag him up and he looks around, squinting his eyes at the song.

"What is this?"

"It's from _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_," I tell him. "It's called 'Time Warp'."

"You think because it has something to do with time I'll instantly adore it?" he asks in disbelief.

I smirk. "I'm not the one tapping my foot," I observe, pointing to the aforementioned appendage. "Now just follow my lead."

"_LET'S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN_."

"It's just a jump to the left," I recite, hopping in that direction. The Doctor follows. "And a step to the right…" I pop my foot out to the side, and he follows off beat. "Put your hands on your hips, and pull your knees in tight. Next is the pelvic thrust. It makes you go insane…"

"_LET'S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN! LET'S DO—"_

"—the Time Warp…" the Doctor mutters under his breath, smiling.

"AGAIN!" I yell, finishing with his quieter version.

He smiles at me, a true genuine smile and not one of those 'I'm just pretending to be happy' smiles. And I smile back.

He gets the dance down to the tee. He even does a little bit of tap-dancing trying to match up with Columbia. Of course, he fails and it just makes me laugh harder than I was before.

When the song finishes, I pause my iPod.

"See? It's not so bad," I say.

"Not all of it," he confesses. "But that confounded screaming—do you even understand what they're saying?"

"Of course I do," I say, rubbing my nose and smelling my breath. I still need to get ready for the day. "I like it, and in order for me to like it I have to understand it. Vague things frustrate me."

"Then what does that say about me?" he asks, looking really full of himself.

I raise an eyebrow and at him up to down. "That your one of the few vague things I can at least tolerate."

His smile falls, as does a bit of his ego, I believe. "Oi!"

I sigh and go back to my iPod, clicking through the songs on shuffle that I don't like. "Nope, none of that. Or that. God, no. Nuh-uh."

The Doctor tries to grab at my iPod. "Come on, give it here. You obviously can't make up your mind."

I recoil, bringing the device to my chest. "It's my music, I'll do as I damn well please! Besides, I'm going to keep playing my music until you take my someplace."

"Surely that can't be long. I can hold out."

I grin devilishly. "I have 300+ songs on my iPod. And don't call me Shirley."

He frowns. "I wasn't—"

"You really need to get out more, Doc."

I flip through a couple more songs before just deciding to leave it and pressing the skip button, not even looking at the next song and dropping the music holding device back onto the console.

I smile as the song begins to play.

"Oh, I love this one!" I say.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Carol of the Bells," I tell him, "by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. I'm pretty sure you've heard of it."

"Why of course I've heard of it!" he says. "But this…this sounds like one of your electric guitar-y, drummy songs."

"It's called rock," I remind him.

He scowls. "Horrible name. What does that music have to do with rocks?"

I laugh. "It's good, and I like it no matter the name. I've always liked this song, all of the versions. It gets me in the Christmas-y mood."

"Oh, Christmas!" the Doctor says, smiling. "I haven't celebrated Christmas in a long time."

I frown. "How long?"

"Oh, thirty-five years, maybe?" he suggests. "It's hard to keep track."

My eyes bulge. "Wow. That's a while." I sigh. "Feels that way, for me. After all, the last time I celebrated Christmas was back in December before all of…this." I wave my hand around ambiguously. "And it was only a couple months until the next one when you arrived. I left…oh, when was it? September? October?"

He's quiet for a beat before frowning. "You know, I can't remember."

"You've been doing that a lot recently," I mutter.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," I dismiss. "Just thought about something." I try to move past the awkward tone and started twirling a bit to the tune of the song. "No big deal. Still, thirty-five years? That's a long time not being one with the Christmas Spirit."

He nods. "Well, when you're in a time machine, holidays are more of an option than a requirement."

I start playing air guitar to the notes. "That's a bullshit reason not to celebrate the holiday that literally promotes world peace."

There's a flash in his eyes and he starts grinning maniacally.

"Jenna, go get dressed," he orders. He turns around and starts taking control of the console.

I frown and the drop the air guitarist act. "Why?"

"Because I'm taking you somewhere and I'm fairly certain you don't want to go there in pajamas."

I break in a smile. "Really?"

He turns around and nods. "Now, I'd suggest a nice dress, below the knees. Perhaps a cardigan or a nice overcoat. Need to blend in."

"To _when_ are we going, exactly?" I ask.

He just smiles a little bit more. "That's for me to know and for you to find out in, oh, forty minutes or so? Yes, that's enough time. Forty minutes. Now go!"

Needless to say, I make a break for the wardrobe.

I decide on a nice dress. It's not below the knees, however. In fact it's probably the farthest from my knees that I can manage without being mistaken for a hooker. Or, to be more accurate, not being completely mistaken for a hooker.

And it's not exactly in the fashion of the time period either.

But you know what? It's black and flattering and makes me look great. And I like it. So it's perfectly acceptable.

The Doctor, however, doesn't think so.

"You told me to put on a nice dress!" I point out, standing in the hallway.

"I told you to put on a dress, and that is _not_ a dress, that is a tight shirt!" he argues.

I put my hands on my hips. "I happen to like the way I look in this, and I don't care what you think."

"I will not have you prancing around looking like that," he says stubbornly.

I sigh. "_You_ are not my father, and _I_ am not your daughter, therefore my decisions are my own fucking business."

There's a flash of something on his face, but it passes as soon as it arrives. However, I know that I've struck a nerve when he hesitates to respond.

He looks down. "Right," he says. "You were your own independent person, I shouldn't treat you like a child. You…can do whatever you want." He turns back to the console. "We'll be landing in two minutes."

I stand in the hallway entrance for another moment before saying, "I'm going to grab a coat."

I dart back into the wardrobe, grab a long overcoat that practically drops to my ankles, and return to the console room wrapping the tie around my waist.

I walk down the stairs and hold my arms out. "Better?"

The Doctor turns to me and gives a small smile. "Yes, much better."

"I still have the dress underneath, and it's not my fault if I get warm," I inform him, slipping on the worn-out Converse I've decided will forever be a constant no matter the time period.

The Doctor smirks. "I don't think that will be a problem."

I frown. "Huh?"

The TARDIS rocks back and forth as the traditional materializing sound plays through. It continues for about two more minutes, with me gripping onto the seat but not complaining. After a while it's become a normal, everyday experience, like making breakfast or brushing your teeth before bed. Once it ends, the Doctor runs to the doors and I'm greeted with a chill in the air as I follow him.

I look out to see gigantic buildings towering above me, and just in front of me the bustling of people moving back and forth. Snow is falling peacefully, and the sound of tinkling voices singing familiar songs sounds through the air.

"Where are we?" I ask, curious.

"Ah, my dear Quigs, I thought you'd be clever enough to figure that out," the Doctor jokes.

I frown and kick him. "Sorry for not being the human GPS system. Now tell me."

He looks at me, and then looks up at the skyscrapers, smiling.

"Christmas Eve night, 1947," he answers. "New York City."

**#**

**What?**

**I got this updating EARLY?**

**Witchcraft, yes.**

**I have finals this week, so the next update might not be so quick. However, I had a blast writing this chapter/interlude, and it feels good to get back into the rhythm of writing.**

**To the Americans reading this, have fun celebrating Martin Luther King Day. To everyone else, have fun celebrating Monday.**

**Reviews are always welcomed, of course.**

**-JustStandingHere**


	26. Fire and Ice, Part 1

**Okay, so I've decided to respond to a couple reviews. You know, for kicks and the fact that I want to interact with you lot a little more. So…**

**DoctorWhotaliaandtheOlympian s- Thank you! I'm glad it was a fun chapter, it was certainly a blast to write.**

**HP2011- Aw, thank you. And I know, the image of him dancing has stuck with me for quite a while. It really does need to happen, like at Comic Con or something. **

**catlover210- *dances along with you***

**RandomCitizen- It seems I may have mixed you up a bit there, darling. Sorry about that. Jenna isn't the Doctor's daughter, though I realize now that the names Jenna and Jenny are very similar (whoops). I just thought it would be good character development to have them build this kind of familial relationship, with the Doctor being protective because, hey, Jenna is an adolescent girl and he was a dad once. I just thought it would be a good development for both of their characters. But I love your review, thanks for catching the period mention!**

**Guest- Oh, I just love anons like you!**

**Alright, this has gone on long enough. Enjoy the chapter!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

"New York City?" I repeat, feeling a sense of anxiousness crawl over my skin.

There are pros and cons to New York, if you don't already know.

The "pros" being that, obviously, it's New York City. It has Tiffany's and Macy's and Times Square and Central Park and all the iconic places you can imagine. And it's huge, too. When I was small, I thought Portland was the biggest city I'd ever known. And damn was I wrong.

The "cons" being in the form of "The Angels Take Manhattan" and all the knowledge brought with it.

"A-Are you sure we should be here?" I ask. "I mean, can't we go someplace else like…Dublin? Yeah, let's go to Dublin."

"Oh, come off it, it's New York!" the Doctor says. He steps out of the TARDIS and I know I've lost my case. "The passageway into America, hustling and bustling and _thriving_, especially now. After the Great Depression, though of course there's still poverty. But what else is there to you humans?" He turns around to look at me after strolling a couple feet. "And it's Christmas Eve!"

I wrap my arms around myself. Jesus, he was right. I don't think I'll be taking off this coat for a long, long time if we're staying here.

"But there's thugs and guns and…stuff," I argue weakly.

The Doctor frowns. "And since when has that stopped us before?"

I huff. "Never," I mutter.

"Exactly! Now come along, Quigs, we have Rockefeller Center to see!"

I look around and scan my surroundings. Alleyway facing a busy street. There's a garbage can with scorch marks at the entrance, so homeless people must frequent here of did at one point. Trash littering the ground.

But above are bright lights and noise, so much noise. A good noise, too, not the type of noise to make you want to shove your head under a pillow. Background noise that keeps things mundane and normal.

I sigh and step out of the TARDIS, and the door shuts behind me.

"Oh, don't be so reluctant," the Doctor says.

I frown. "I have good reason to be reluctant, thank you very much."

"And why is that?" he asks.

"Spoilers," I bite out. "Big, big spoilers."

He looks concerned. "It isn't soon, is it?"

"I—," I pause, because he hasn't exactly asked questions like that before. He's usually just left the matter alone. I shake my head. "Um, no. It's not anytime soon. You've got a lot of time before it happens."

"Does that mean that I have time before…" he trails off at the end of the question, swallowing a lungful of air and letting it escape through his nose.

I blink and give a small smile. "Well, I can't exactly tell you, now can I?" I stitch my eyebrows together. "Why are you asking, anyways?"

"Curiosity killed the cat," he quotes.

"And sometimes satisfaction just buries it six feet under," I snap.

He looks at me for a moment, and I probably look like I'm going to snack his neck. Which I sort of want to do, anyways.

But then he grins and claps his hands together, rubbing them on each other like he always does. "Well! We have places to see, don't we?"

I start walking towards the alleyway exit. "You bet your ass we've got places to see." He waits for me to walk next to him and follows me out.

We walk down the street, in the middle of the clutter and bustle of the city, when I look up to see the sky is at the stage of almost-dark, where it's not pitch black but not light out and the clouds and sky are tinged a dark navy blue.

"Doctor," I say. "What time is it?"

"Around six o'clock," he answers. "Why?"

I shrug. "Just wondering. I want to make sure I can keep a count until Christmas."

"There'll be grandfather clocks creating a symphony to tell you its Christmas, counting isn't much of a matter."

"Somebody's anxious," I mutter.

"Well of course I am! This is New York, the Big Apple! I haven't been here since…ever," he tells me.

"You mean that time with the Daleks and Martha?" I remind him.

"Uh, yeah. That time, of course."

I smile and look ahead to the street. On the sidewalk people are slumped against the brownstone buildings, dirty and huddled into a ball. Some surround trash can fires, sticking their hands out and getting mesmerized with the light.

"It's such a shame," I whisper.

"What?" the Doctor asks.

"All the people," I clarify. "This is after the Great Depression, right? Busy 40's, right after the war, what with the return home kisses and Frank Sinatra."

"Yes, but wherever there's humanity there's poverty," he comments, sticking his hands in my pockets. "You lot are always going to try to place yourselves above the others, and because of that some people get kicked down. It might be because they were born into it or it happened on their own accord. It doesn't make it alright, but it just…happens."

"It would help to do something about it," I point out.

He shrugs. "What can you do?"

I stop walking. "A lot of things, actually!" I point out. He turns just in front of me, and I swat him on the chest. "You're the Doctor, you especially could do something!" He looks at me and I roll my eyes. "Oh, don't tell me you've gotten to _that_ stage so soon. Usually you're alone and I thought it would start a lot later."

"Stage? What stage?"

"The 'the Universe is a cruel thing and I can't do anything about it' stage," I explain. "Which is useless, by the way. Because if I know you—and don't deny that I do—you usually don't let the laws of the Universe restrict you." I sigh. "Now, I don't know why you're thinking this way—maybe I'm being a bad companion or maybe it's just the stress of the fact that you were told you were going to…you know. I honestly don't know. But I'm running out of motivational speeches and if you keep it up like this I'm just going to have to resort to kicking you until you're in a positive mood."

I'm met with silence.

I frown and wave my hand in front of his face. "Doctor? Yoo-hoo?"

He blinks. "Oh, sorry."

I shake my head. "You weren't listening to a single word I said, weren't you?"

He goes red and smiles a little. "Um…no. But I'm sure it was fantastic! I've just got a hankering for some food."

I snort. "Hankering? Who the hell says hankering?"

"I do!" he defends. "Possibly. Maybe. Probably never again."

I laugh, letting the tension from before dissipate. "You're a dork," I tell him.

"I will take that as a compliment," he says. We start walking again.

"We could head to Times Square," I suggest. "Or anywhere, really. New York is famous for its street venders."

"Where do you want to go first?" the Doctor asks. "We have approximately six hours until midnight. We can go multiple places."

I think for a moment. "Macy's," I answer.

He looks surprised. "Macy's?"

I nod.

"You want to go to a _department store_?"

"Yep."

"…Why?"

I shrug. "It's huge. I mean, they've got a parade named after them, you can't beat that. And they've got cute clothes." I hold up my arms to emphasize the huge trench coat I have on, which is currently hanging over my hands and making me look like a six year old in their dad's work shirt. "I can't stay in this all night."

"What do you care? It's just a coat."

"Well, coming from you, Mister I Look Like Someone's 80 Year-Old History Professor, that doesn't really count. I want to look good."

"Why?" he asks, now on the verge of whining.

"Well I was hoping to go to a New Year's party after this," I say bluntly.

The Doctor's face scrunches up. "New Year's parties?"

"Yes."

"Why on Earth would you want to go to a New Year's party?"

I roll my eyes. "Oh, I don't know, maybe to get _kissed_?"

He pauses. "Is the goal of most adolescent humans just to snog each other?"

"You ask too many questions," I grumble.

"Asking questions is a wonderful thing."

"And irritating."

"You never answered me, though," he points out.

I bump into somebody and move past them with a small "sorry" and roll my eyes at him. "I just…is it too much of a crime? Especially the way my last one went."

"What happened?" he asks, looking concerned.

I look up at him. He doesn't remember the _Hesperidia_, and even a little bit after that. Each day I've been asking him what our first adventure was and every other day his answer changes, slowly deteriorating and losing each memory. Besides, I don't think he knew much in the first place, when he was on the ship.

"The guy was just a huge dick in the end," I resort to saying. "Complete jerk." Who threw me into a ship hull full of mutants, as well. I shrug. "Got back at him though."

"Yeah?"

I nod. "Slapped him across the face." In the midst of escaping a slightly psychotic captain.

"Good on you!" he compliments.

I smile a little. I kind of wish he could remember, and stop whatever he's doing to forget, so that I could relive all those adventures he's seemingly lost.

"Can we go to Macy's now?" I ask. "Like I said, New Year's party. Coming up very soon, and the 40's had nice little necklaces and things."

He huffs. "Fine. But we have other places to go, of course."

I grin. "They've got a Santa Claus."

"He's not the real one, the real Father Christmas is seven feet tall and owns a motorbike."

I snort and break into a fit of laughter.

"What? It's true. If you don't want to believe me, I _do_ have pictures from the last Christmas party of his I went to."

I laugh even harder.

He grabs my arm. "Alright, let's go to your clothing store," he grumbles, dragging me along.

My giggling fit dies down and I pull myself away from him, getting into my own pace as we walk through neon lights and people in mid-calf skirts and fedoras. Funny, whenever I imagine the 1940s I always imagine people being black and white, as if color didn't exist before 1958. But these people have got bright hues on them, with blues and green and blondes and redheads all being visible even in the mid-dark tone.

I realize I have no idea where the Macy's in New York is and look around.

"Uh…Doc?"

He frowns at the nickname, but answers with, "Yes?"

"Do you know how to get to Macy's?"

"Of course I know how to get to Macy's; I know every direction to every place ever known."

I nod. "Okay then."

We get lost fifteen minutes into our trek.

"Can't we just ask somebody for directions?" I ask.

He waves his hand. "No, no! I know this place, I've been here before. Just give me a mo, I'll figure it out."

I roll my eyes. "Just like any other guy. What's the deal with asking for directions, it's not like it's going to shoot an arrow into your dignity!"

We're standing on the corner of another vague street, with tall skyscrapers towering over us. People move around us, giving us irritated looks for stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Just give me a minute, Quigs, I can figure this out," he reassures me, and he stands there and starts waving his hand around, obviously using a mental map of the city but looking like a delusional idiot in the process. He shakes his head and has his eyes dart over the mental map, and I sigh.

"Fine," I say. "I'll go ask for direction, 'kay?"

He waves me away, not paying attention. "Yes, of course. Go do that, don't stray too far!"

I smirk and look through the crowds, trying to find someone who looks easy to talk to.

I spot a woman with dark brown hair verging on black and ruby red lip who's pushing a small baby carrier. She keeps glancing in multiple directions, but mostly looks down at whatever type of child is in the carriage and smiles.

I look behind to the Doctor and walk up to the woman.

"Um, hello?" I ask, waving.

She looks up from the baby carriage. "What do you want?" she asks skeptically.

I clear my throat. "Er, my uncle and I just came over from Ellis Island," I explain, donning a British accent I hope is believable enough but probably isn't. "And we're having a bit of trouble navigating the city." I glance back over to the Doctor. "Well, I am. My uncle…he has mental disabilities, but my mum is still waiting to get her visa and I have to take care of him until she can become a legal citizen."

She looks over my shoulder and raises her eyebrows at the Doctor. "Limeys, are you?" she asks.

I nod. "I guess that's the term, yeah," I say, agreeing but not really knowing what she's talking about. "Listen, we're just trying to get over to Macy's for some last minute Christmas shopping, do you think you could help me?"

"Oh, sure, sweetheart," she says. "Let me just get out my notepad, I'll write down a couple directions."

I nod. "Thank you, so much."

"Oh, no problem," she says, and starts fishing through her purse. I peer over and see a bundle of blankets with a pudgy face and big eyes stare up at me. It continue to stare at me with utter fascination.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" I ask, feeling utterly stupid for calling a baby 'it'.

"Girl," she answers. "Named her Imogene."

I smile. "That's a beautiful name," I comment.

"What's yours?" the lady asks, scribbling on her notepad.

"What's my what?" I ask, confused.

"You're name, darling," she clarifies.

"Oh," I realize, feeling more and more like a dunce. "Uh…Maggie."

"And your uncle?" She rips the page out of her notebook.

"John," I answer immediately. "John Smith. And I'm…Maggie Smith." I grimace, realizing my mistake. Oh well, she hasn't gotten famous yet, I think. She must only be around five at the moment.

"I'm Clarissa," the lady—Clarissa—tells me. She hands me the paper, which is a series of directions and an address at the bottom. She points to it. "Come round there if you need anything. A kid like you taking care of a full-grown adult can be tough, I know. Just go to the front desk and ask for Mrs. Sampson, got it?"

I nod and stuff the directions in the trench coat pockets. "Thank you, so much!"

"Oi, Quigs!" the Doctor calls from behind, running up to me.

Clarissa looks at me questioningly.

"It's his nickname for me," I explain. "I keep it out of…sentiment."

The Doctor ends up right beside me. "I figured out the directions!" He looks over to the woman. "Who're you?"

"_John_," I say, warningly. I raise my eyebrows and he catches on quickly. "This is Clarissa. She just helped me get directions to Macy's."

"But I just figured out the way to get to Macy's," he reiterates.

I nod enthusiastically. "Yes, and I'm sure it's a _brilliant_ way, but we've got to move fast so we can get our gifts and get home so you can take your medicine, remember?"

"Medicine? I don't have any medicine."

Clarissa smiles patiently and looks over to me. "Like I said, if you need any help, I'll probably be back at the apartment by eight o'clock. Now, Imogene and I have to get over to my in-law's place."

The baby gurgles.

"It's alright, Imogene," the Doctor reassures. "I'm sure you'll be able to tolerate it."

I elbow him.

"What? I speak baby, you know."

I grin, trying to look calm and collected. "I know, John. But let's get over to the department store, alright? The sooner you go home and take your pills, the better." I look over to Clarissa. "Again, thank you so much. If I need you, I will definitely contact you."

She nods, and with that I pull the directions out and drag the Doctor along as I turn the corner.

"What was that about?" he asks.

"Nothing," I dismiss. I look up, searching for the correct street name. "You don't need to worry about."

I look around through the crowd of people and the light coming from both the street lamps and the trash can fires. My gaze skims over most of the view, until it rests on a little boy.

He's homeless, that's for certain. Dirty and ratty. He's standing alone next to a trash bin on fire, with a worn out tam on his head and a oversized coat that has holes on the sleeves, trousers (have I really stooped so low to say trousers?) short and ending around his ankles, showing high, soggy socks from the snow and soot-stained shoes.

And he has his eyes trained right on me.

I stare back at him, for a minute. He's across the street, only maybe thirty yards away from where I am. He stares at me, intently, with a blank look on his face. No wonder or anger or curiosity. He's just…blank.

The Doctor peers over my shoulder. "You alright, Jenna?"

I shove him off. "Yeah," I say. I look back over to where the boy was, and find the area deserted, the only thing left being the fire that is slowly dying. "Yeah, I'm fine." I look down at the paper. "We've only got a couple more blocks to go. Come on!"

Macy's is bigger than I thought.

Then again, the one I had was one story and crammed with one half being furniture and the other half being clothes, with the perfume section sandwiched in the middle.

But this store…this store has _floors_.

I walk in and smell new clothing and perfume samples, and the typical elevator music playing a holiday tune in the background.

We stroll around for a little bit before I see the Doctor physically jump ten feet in the air before running towards a particular aisle filled with small playthings and stuffed animals. I catch up with him.

"Quigs, why didn't you say there was a toy section?" he asks.

I frown. "It's a department store. I just sort of assumed that—"

"No matter. You go off and get your snog jewelry," he says, waving me off. "I have a model airplane to renovate."

"Don't do anything history-altering, got it?" I ask him.

"I won't, I won't," he says, which means he really will. He picks up a box kit and grins. "Go walk around, I'll be here making this _beautiful_."

I smirk. "Alright, then."

I leave him to his whims and stroll past him until I'm out of earshot from his gleeful giggling (yes, _you_, it's giggling). Macy's is wide open, all white and pristine. I like it. Since the night's wearing out there are less and less people in the store, making it less crowded than the streets outside.

There's an escalator that's set around a wide square showing the next floor down, guarded by railing. I look down, gripping tight so that I don't feel like I'm going to fall out.

That's when I hear it.

It's faint, at first, and I don't look up to acknowledge. But it gets gradually louder, so I look up. And there they are.

A patch of red hair, up in bun, and sandy blonde gelled down. They look slightly different, but then again age and the time period will do that. She's pushing a baby carriage down the way at what I guess is the top speed one can go when in the possession of a child, and he's trailing behind her.

"Doctor!" she yells. Her accent's changed, slightly, but the more she yells the more it reverts to what it once was. "Doctor!"

I freeze, and then bolt as fast as I can towards them.

Because Amy and Rory Pond are barreling straight for the man who doesn't even know they've got a gravestone marked for them.

**#**

**AH. NEW STORYLINE. SMELL'S FANTASTIC.**

**Got this in just in the nick of time, too. Again, I apologize for spelling errors, grammar mistakes, etc.**

**Btw, I'm borrowing heavily from the deleted scene "P.S." for Amy and Rory, so you should probably watch that on YouTube to get some context.**

**As always, reviews and things are welcomed wholeheartedly.**

**Until then!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	27. Fire and Ice, Part 2

**Ah hello.**

**Sorry for the delay.**

**It seems I got caught up, seeing as I had a breakthrough with an original story of mine AND I've gotten back into the swing of reading Homestuck and am blazing through it at the speed of light itself.**

**But now I'm back on track. Responses to reviews are at the bottom.**

**So here you go!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

"Doctor! Doctor!"

I've already skirted around the escalators, turning the curved corner of the railing. I pause and look back. The Doctor, though clearly visible and standing out in his own fashion because, of course, he's the Doctor, is not looking up, and is prying a model airplane box open with his bare hands.

I look back to the Ponds, who are still running at the closest thing to driving a race car with a baby in the front seat. I gulp and race towards them.

"Shh!" I hush. I halt to a stop. "Be quiet!"

They stop as well, four feet in front of me. "No," Amy says, and even though her accent has gone American I can hear the Scottish bleeding through. "No, you don't understand. You see that man over there?" She points to the Doctor. "He's one of my best friends and I haven't seen him in a _long time_. So I will _not_ be quiet, little missy."

Rory puts a hand on her shoulder. "Listen, Amy, maybe it isn't—"

"Him?" she finishes, looking at him. "No, it has to be him. I'd recognize him anywhere."

"But those other times—"

"I've got a gut feeling, Rory. I know it's him, it's got to be."

She looks so hopeful and happy. Even Rory, who's trying his best to ground her, has that look of 'well maybe it is possible'.

My plan, before, was to drive them out, to get them as far away from a paradox-inducing situation as possible. But, unfortunately, I'm a sucker for sweet moments.

I sigh and look down. "It's him," I mutter.

Amy and Rory, who I guess had momentarily forgotten my existence—and who wouldn't if you had just spotted a man you hadn't seen in around a decade—sharply look at me.

"What?" Amy asks.

"It's him," I say, louder. "He's…the Doctor."

She breaks into a smile and turns to her husband. "You hear that, Rory?" She turns back in the Doctor's direction. "DOCTO—"

"Shh!" I hush again.

She frowns. "Oi, don't shut me up like that."

"He can't know you're here," I tell them.

"What?" Rory asks.

"That's not your Doctor," I explain.

"Has he got a bow tie?" Amy asks, letting go of the stroller with one of her hands and placing it on her hip.

I nod. "Well, yeah…"

"Then he's my Doctor."

"But he's not," I add. I blink and shrug. "Well, kind of. He's partly your Doctor, but not…all the way? I don't know. But you can't talk to him."

"Did something happen to him?" Rory asks.

"Something—like amnesia?" I ask in clarification. "Oh, no. No, of course not."

"Then why can't we talk to him?" Amy seethes.

I gulp. "I—uh, it's hard to exp—"

She guides the handle of the baby stroller over to her husband's hands. "Rory, take the baby." She stomps up to me. "Now, listen here—what's your name?"

"Jenna," I answer sheepishly.

"Jenna, I have some questions."

"Thought you would…"

"And I want them to be answered."

I blink. "Uh…ok, just—wait a mo, alright? We can't talk here, right now." I start heading towards the Doctor.

"Where are you going?" Rory asks. "You're not going to run away, are you?"

I turn around to look at them. "You think I'd be stupid enough to try to run away from Amelia Pond and the Last Centurion?" I respond, smiling a little. I shake my head. "No, I'm just telling the Doctor I'm going to be away for a bit. Usually I don't think he'd mind, but lately he's been a little high-strung, so…"

Rory frowns. "Wait, what did you—?"

"Last Centurion," I say. "I also know about Demon's Run, Idris, the pirate ship, the Atraxi, and all those things. And don't worry—I don't mean to sound like one of this irritatingly vague prophets or anything, but all your questions will be answered."

I run off before they have a chance to say anything.

I round the corner, not far off from where I was before, and poke my head into the aisle the Doctor is sitting in.

"Hey, Doctor?" I ask, yelling across the thirty yards between us.

He head shoots up. "Quigs?"

"Yeah," I say. "Listen, I'm going to be over in the baby aisle for a bit, alright?"

He frowns. "The baby aisle, why would you be in the baby aisle?"

I hesitate. "Cute things," I answer. "Cute things and…stuff. But just so you know, you know?"

His eyebrows knit together. "No, I don't—"

"Good," I interject. "I'll be off, then!"

I run off before he can catch up to me and skid in front of the very confused Pond family.

"Alright!" I say. "Off to the baby aisle. Though…you were probably already there, huh?" I peer over the carriage and see a pink squishy face that is fast asleep. I smile.

"Did the Doctor just call you Quigs?" Rory asks, looking concerned.

I look up to him. "Yeah. It's his nickname for me, uses it all the time. Absolutely irritating."

He frowns deeper.

"Amy, do you—" he starts.

He doesn't finish, though, because Amy is already snatching the baby carrier and making her way to the aisle with stuffed toys and whatever those little nubby baby chew toys are called.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"To the baby aisle," he answers. "We have questions, and you're going to answer them. So come on."

I glance back at the Doctor, who's preoccupied, and make my way to the infant clothing section.

I look around. "You realize that was just an idea, right? We could go to a café or at least someplace with chairs since I've been walking for about an hour straight."

"No, we're staying here," Amy says.

I prepare myself to say something, but deflate and lean against the shelves. "Alright, shoot. Not literally, though. I hope."

The pair share a glance, doing that secret couples-language where you don't speak but somehow get the message perfectly across.

"You've been travelling with the Doctor?" Rory asks.

I shrug. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

They both raise an eyebrow.

I shuffle around a bit. "Well, I kind of stowed away and I can't get back home, so it's not like either of us had much of a choice in me having adventures with him. But if you define travelling with the Doctor as saving things and that jazz, then you could say that, yes, I've been…doing that stuff? I don't know."

"How long?"

I blink a couple times. "Uh…a month a half? Two months? It's hard to keep track of things like that in a time machine, huh?"

"Oh, you better believe it," Amy says.

I look down to the cradle. "So who's that?"

"Why's that any business of yours?" Amy asks.

I shrug. "I've got question, too. They're adorable, by the way."

"Thank you," Amy says, still trying to sound tough but the obvious motherly pride is beginning to show through. "If he wasn't so full he'd probably thank you, too."

I smile, letting out one small laugh. I look down. "It's really exciting to meet you guys," I confess. "I mean, after all I've heard and seen and to meet the two of you…sorry, just thought I'd say that."

Amy flips the loose hair off of her shoulder and smiles. "No need to apologize. You can say things like that, I don't really mind."

"Amy," Rory reminds her. "The questions."

"Hm? Oh, yeah!" She brings back her stern face. I flinch. "Why can't we go up and talk to him?"

"He can't interfere with his own timeline, you know that," I say.

"Well, yeah," Rory admits. "But what's that got to do with him?"

"Like I said, he's not _your_ Doctor," I repeat. "You know, the one that's been to the spaceship full of dinosaurs or investigated little black squares scattered all over Earth. He's not that one."

"How do you know about those things?" she asks, squinting her eyes.

I smile sheepishly and shake my head. "I'll tell you, just let me finish up this answer. One question at a time, alright?"

They nod.

I sigh. "Alright. So…where was I? Oh yeah…_this_ Doctor—the one being an absolute six year-old and fixing up model planes to, most likely, make them actually fly—he's pre-Silencio Doctor. The one who's practically paranoid about his own death and thinks—stupidly, may I add—that there's no way out. He hasn't seen Manhattan or the Dalek Asylum." I gulp. "He doesn't know about…about…"

"…us," Rory breathes out. He frowns. "So if we just ran up to him…"

"He'd ask you what you were doing here," I finish. "And then there would be a hole the size of Belgium in the universe…and he'd find out, maybe. And it'd destroy him. And I can't let that happen." I lower my voice. "Not yet…"

"What was that? Not yet?"

I look up. "No, not like that. I just mean…it's a long story, if you want all the answers. A very, very long story."

Amy crosses her arms over her chest. "We've got time."

I hesitate. "Can we go somewhere with chairs? Or…something? Like I said, I've been walking for about an hour around New York because the most brilliant man in the entire universe is too stubborn to ask for directions—"

Amy rolls her eyes. "Oh, don't even get me started."

I smile and snort a little. "He ended back in Times Square four times and he thought there was a time lapse."

"At least he didn't pop out of a cake at your stag party," Rory mutters.

I shake my head. "But it is a month or two worth of story-telling; it's going to take at least a half an hour to talk." I lick my lips. "Unless of course I'm free to go…"

"Oh no," Amy warns. "You still haven't told us about how you know all those—things. Things only a few people know."

There's a drawn out pause since I can't figure out what to say next.

"There's a small bakery just down the street," Rory suggests.

I look over to him. "Good idea. Let's go."

I peer out from the aisle and spy the area the Doctor was in to find him still preoccupied.

"Okay," I whisper. "Sneak out. Stealthily."

Rory frowns. "You're not going to tell him where you are?"

"It's not like anybody ever has," I shrug. "Besides, I'll just say I got sidetracked or something like that." I poke my head back out of the aisle again and make sure the Doctor is facing away. "Okay, come on! Quickly."

"Oi, we've got a baby on us, in case you haven't realized!" Amy whispers back.

I give a once over to the family and sigh. "Alright, as quickly and possible. And cautiously."

And in that matter we scurry through the hallway and out the door.

Of course, the streets are crowded and the only light outside is artificial. As soon as we exit I'm practically assaulted by five people at once.

I grimace and catch up to the Ponds, who are easily navigating the waves of people.

"How can you manage this?" I ask.

Amy looks back at me. "Hm? Oh, it's fairly easy after you've been living here for _ten years_."

I consider this. "Alright, makes sense. Still—oi, watch it!—I don't think I'd b able to survive here for long."

"Where'd you live before?"

I glance across the street and into an alleyway. Slumped up against a trash bin, with ratty clothes and greasy stubble, a man in looking up at me, not breaking any contact. I squint, and I swear I see his eyes pulse orange for a moment. What the—

"Jenna? Did you hear me?"

"What? Oh yeah. Uh, he suburbs, in Oregon." In another universe.

"You're a far ways away from home," she remarks.

I look over to the spot the man was in. It's vacant.

I smirk. "More than you'd think," I mutter under my breath. I look up. "Yeah. But, then again, when you're in a time machine most of the time home's a century or two away, so…" I look back over to the squished face of the baby in the carriage and watch as he stirs and shifts over to the side. "How old is he?"

"Eleven months," Rory answers.

I smile. "He's adorable."

"We know," Amy says.

I'm still perplexed over the fact that they've got a child, though. Did they have a surrogate? Did Amy get some baby magic placed on her something?

I keep up my smile. "Uh, he's got your…eyes?"

Nice job, Jenna. A-plus acting skills.

Amy frowns. "That's odd, considering he's adopted."

I blink. "Oh. Sorry, I…huh, I didn't know. For once, that's nice."

They both look at me strangely. "I'll explain later. What's the tike's name?"

"Anthony," they answer in unison.

"Nice name."

Amy looks me over. "Can I ask about the gigantic trench coat?"

I look down at my hands, which are covered by sleeves. "Uh…it's not very important."

"We're here," Rory announces, and I turn my head to be greeted by a tiny little shop with chairs and everything a sign reading "Cage's Coffee". I frown at the name, but enter the shop without a second thought.

I sit there as Amy and Rory order some coffee. I would love to buy something, but I'm dead broke on my own and the Doctor's got the cash in his pocket. I'm tempted, as their ordering, to grab my cell phone out of the depths of this coat's pockets. But that would screw up time lines and things, wouldn't it?

So I watch as Amy rocks the cradle back and forth soothingly and Rory pays. I watch them walk over to me and finally sit down.

"Alright," Rory says. "Now tell us how you know those things and why you're traveling with the Doctor."

"And," Amy adds, "don't try to outsmart us."

I nod, shift in my seat and I tell them.

I tell them about my home and where I'm from and who I am.

I tell them about Benny and the spaceship and having Chinese food in ancient China.

I tell them about the Silence, the dreams, the TARDIS.

I tell them everything.

**#**

Of course, they ask questions. And by the end of all of it I've been talking for about an hour straight. Anthony's woken up at this point and Amy's cradling him with her arms protectively. My throat feels scratchy and dry and my tongue is like cotton in my mouth.

"…so after a bit of persuasion and scripted inspirational speeches we wound up here," I finish. "We got to Macy's, I heard you, and then…well…" I gesture to the scene before us. "Ta-da."

There's silence.

And then more silence.

Then Amy asking, "So…let me just see if I'm phrasing this correctly—I'm played by an actress on a television show depicting the Doctor's life?"

I nod. "Yes."

Another pause.

"Am I hot?"

I blink. "Um, you're played by someone who looks exactly like you. Her name is Karen Gill—"

"So I'm hot, then?"

I blink again. "Yeah, sure. Yes."

She smiles smugly. "Okay, then. I've got no more questions."

"That was—quite a story," Rory comments.

I brush my bangs from my forehead. "You're telling me, I've lived it. Though, it isn't much in comparison to you guys, isn't it? I mean, you had ten years. I've had two months."

"So the Doctor doesn't know about…any of this?" Rory asks.

I sigh. "No, not all of it. I've been keeping the creepy prophecies away from him. He's already got enough foreshadowing on him, you know? And I'm fairly certain he's oblivious to the fact that right now I'm talking to you two. Otherwise he'd either be very excited or New York would blow up. Mostly likely both at once."

"It's funny," Amy comments. "He never mentioned you."

I frown. "Raelly? That's odd." I shrug. "Well, maybe it's his thing. I mean, he didn't tell Rose about his previous companions and you hacked into the TARDIS files in order to get to them."

"Yeah, but even then. Sometimes he'll—or, well, he used to hear something or say something and start laughing out of nowhere. It would be little things like bananas or bees and then he'd just say that it was joke he had, once, with somebody long ago. He never mentioned things like Weeping Angels in London or even that nickname he gave you—what was it?"

"Quigs," I mutter. "Sounds like someone barfing, if you ask me."

"Yeah, he never mentioned any of that," Amy finishes. I glance over to Rory, who's got an odd expression on his face.

"What?" I ask him.

He shakes his head. "Nothing. It's nothing, just…Amy, do you remember when we over at Central Park?"

"Rory, we've been to Central Park a lot of times."

"No, I mean when we were with the Doctor. The last time we were with the Doctor."

"Yeah, why?"

"Do you remember when we were on the bridge and the homeless person run up to us?"

"Vaguely, yeah. Rory, why does this matter?" She rocks the baby a little faster.

"Because didn't she call herself Quigs?"

I frown, and there's another silent moment. "What?"

Amy looks at him and her eyes widen, ignoring me. "Oh yeah! Oh my god, you don't think—" She turns to me. "Jenna, have you been to New York other times?"

I shake my head. "No. Hey, what are you talking abou—"

"I can't believe I forgot that! That was really odd, even for us. Why didn't I remember that?"

I wave my hand. "Hello? Excuse my language, but what the hell are you talking about?"

They both look at me in absolute awe.

"Jenna," Rory says. "Ten years ago—or, seventy years in the future, actually—we were in New York and someone—"

A high pitched noise compared to a xylophone echoed through the nearly-empty coffee shop. I froze and quickly fished through my pockets, pulling out my cell phone.

"Hey, wha's that noise?" the man behind the counter asks.

"My…er, recorder, sorry," I lie. "Must of switched it on my accident, just let me, um…see what it's gotten."

The employee waves me off and goes into the back room.

I click receive and whisper into the phone. "How the hell are you calling me? You don't even own a cell phone!"

"Actually," says the condescending, bouncy voice I was expecting, "I do. Martha gave it to me, remember? You should."

I sigh. "Okay, I forgot. Call the papers, it's a miracle. But how in God's name are you talking to me?"

"Payphone," he answers simply. "I popped in ten dollars, is that too much?"

I gape. "Ten? You only need a dime for five minutes."

"Really?" A pause. "Ah, oh well. Anyways, rewired the inner circuitry a little bit, fixed it right up. Collect calling to landline _and_ mobiles. But I'm not calling to tell you about that."

"Really?" I ask sarcastically. "Hadn't noticed."

He ignores me. "I'm calling, because I went to the baby aisle of Macy's and you weren't there."

"Yeah, I sort of wandered off," I lie. Well, halfway lie. I look up to the Ponds and mouth "Doctor". They nod with 'yeah, we guessed that" on their faces. Even the baby, I think. "Got sidetracked."

"By what?" the Doctor scoffs.

"The allure of New goddamn York, what else?" I snap back.

I can hear him shaking his head. "So where are you, exactly? The jewelry section?"

"Uh…about a block away in a coffee shop?"

The yelling is loud even when I pull the phone away from my ear.

Once it dies down, I bring it back and sigh. "Look, I'm just south of you, alright? I'm in a place called Cage's Coffee, and I just wanted to sit down."

"You weren't supposed to wander off! Why do you lot always wander off, I state specifically not to wander off but _nooo_ you just have to, don't you?"

I rub my forehead. "Listen, we can go back to the TARDIS and stay in there and cover me in bubble wrap, okay? Just come down here, I'll be right next to the door."

There's a pause. "Alright," he says, his tone much gentler. "I'll be there in five minutes, but don't go walking around like a stray cat!"

I laugh. "Not planning to."

"Okay. See you then."

"Bye." I click the 'end' button. I look up at the Ponds. "You've got to get out of here, before he sees you."

"How long until he gets here?"

"Five minutes," I answer. "More or less."

They get ready to leave, putting on their coats and putting the baby in the carriage. We walk out of the coffee shop. The snow is falling a little heavier now.

"I guess this is goodbye, then," I say.

"Yeah, I guess it is," Amy replies.

"You'll do good for him," Rory says. "He needs friends."

I smile. "Yeah, I know."

Amy looks down. "Do you know if he's happy? You know, after…"

I shrug. "I haven't gotten that far. Best to save the timeline, you know?" I pause. "But I'm sure he is."

"He better," she says. "Or I'll find him. I don't care how man paradoxes I create, I'll find him and get him another little girl's backyard he can crash his ship in."

I laugh. "I believe you." I pause. "So are you guys happy?"

They exchange a glance.

"Yeah," Rory says. "We are."

"Definitely."

"Good. Well, then, um…bye, Ponds?"

"It's actually Williams now," Rory says, smiling and looking proud. "Has been for ten years."

I shake my head. "No, it's not."

He considers. "Yeah…it really isn't, is it?"

They are strolling around the corner when I feel someone poke my shoulder. I turn around and am greeted by the Doctor.

"Who were you just talking to?" he asks.

I glance back, and they've already disappeared back into their normal lives. "Oh, just a family concerned about a teenage girl alone on the street."

He points his finger at me. "They had a right to be concerned, you can't just run willy-nilly around New York!"

I snort. "Willy-nilly?"

"Not the point! I'd go up and congratulate that family myself for your inexcusable behavior," he says.

"Sheesh, Mr. Grumpypants. Someone get your panties in a knot?"

"Yes, _you_!"

I laugh again. "Come on, then. Let's go back to the TARDIS, if you want. Spend Christmas in there."

He pops the lapels of his jacket and starts walking. "Yes. Yes, that is exactly what we'll do!" He starts walking. "Come on, Quigs!"

I purse my lips and follow him. "You're just using that nickname because you're pissed at me, aren't you?"

"I'm not going to use that exact phrasing, but yes."

I shrug. "You've got every right to. It's still not a good excuse to act like a major Scrooge when it's Christmas Eve."

"I'm not being a Scrooge," he mutters. "I'm perfectly happy. I got five model airplanes off the ground in one hour with just a small bit of a chip I found in my pocket and paper clips."

"New record," I remark, and we both start laughing.

Once we turn a couple corners and cross a few avenues we're stopped at a crossing sign that has the big red hand lighted up.

"So do you know how to get back to the TARDIS?" I ask.

"Of course I do!" he says. He frowns. "Well, most of the way. I know we have to cross a boulevard."

I smile. "Why don't we just take the subway, huh?"

He grumbles. "Fine."

I grab his arm and follow the signs until we're at the station, surrounded by either pedestrians or the city's homeless, half of which is sleeping against the wall and the other half that is surrounding another impromptu fire to keep themselves warm.

Oh, and are staring at me.

Okay, what is with the homeless stalkers? I frown at them, and their eyes flare orange back at me. One takes a step, and then another. And then another. And others start to follow, walking towards me.

I go wide-eyed and turn back to the Doctor, who's buying our ticket, and tug his sleeve.

"Quigs, I'm busy trying to convert Faruvian dopples into American dollars, can it wait?"

"No, it can't," I say, pointing at the ten-man army of ratty-clothed people silently walking towards us.

He turns and frowns. "Oh, that's interesting. Looks like—"

"They're walking creepily towards us, yeah," I say. "So why don't we get the fuck out of here, okay? Okay. Come on!" I grab his arm and pull him through the crowds.

"Quigs!" he shouts as he bump into the people at the station. "Jenna—sorry ma'am—Jenna, maybe they're friendly!"

"Does friendly have orange eyes?" I ask him, navigating my way out of the building. I spot one of them dead ahead and turn left. "I think not."

"Orange eyes?"

I ignore him and pull him out onto the streets, still running. I've gotten good at running, since two months ago. I don't like it, but I'm faster than I was a while before.

Once we're out on the main street I begin searching for a good hiding spot. I find one, after five minutes of sprinting, in between two apartment buildings in the shape of what I call a not-sidewalk, which is a stretch of pavement between two things that connects the roads unofficially. I steer ourselves into that little not-sidewalk and finally stop, trying to catch my breath.

I slide down the wall of the apartment building and sigh.

"What had you worked up about those things?" the Doctor asks, still standing.

"I'd seen them—once or twice before during tonight," I tell him. "They keep staring at me with those weird eyes." I look up. "Do you know what they are?"

"I've got about five guesses, all of which are either highly impossible or highly dangerous."

I groan. "That's just fucking typical."

I hear the shuffle of footsteps too late. I look up, and there's the army of homeless on the closest end of the not-sidewalk, staring at me.

"Jenna," the Doctor whispers. "Be prepared to run."

"Always am," I respond, getting up.

The Doctor strolls up to the first person in the group, a small girl by the age of ten or eleven, I'm guessing.

"Alright, you lot," he says casually, pulling out the sonic. "You seem to have a fascination with my friend. Who are you?" He scans them, and the girl's head snaps to his direction.

"We are here for a house," she says, but it doesn't sound like a little girl's voice. It sounds like a thousand voices, all at once. "A new ship."

"You didn't answer my question," the Doctor reminds her—them, I don't know. "Who are you?"

"We are the Visichek," they answer. "Give us the girl."

"Visichek…" he mutters. "Oh, that's bad. That's very unpleasantly bad." He turns to me sharply, walking quick. "Visichek, alien parasites."

"So…run?" I guess.

He nods. "Run."

**#**

**Again, I'm sorry for the delay, but I needed a break as well. Luckily, I was able to post by tonight.**

**Okay, let's reply to some reviews!**

**DJ-Doctor- Oh, that's quite a coincidence!**

**HP2011- I KNOW WOULDN'T THAT JUST BE FANTASTIC**

**Georgefails- Ah, may have confused you there a bit. See, in America, trousers are usually called "pants" (it's very odd I understand). Since Jenna is slowly giving up more and more of her American speech patterns, I just thought it would be funny to add that.**

**Catlover210- Did I? Oh, good! I hoped I would.**

**Remember to review and all those things!**

**See you soon!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	28. Fire and Ice, Part 3

**SO GUESS WHO'S CAUGHT UP WITH HOMESTUCK. (points to self)**

**Review responses posted at the end.**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

You know I thought I would only have a couple weeks left with the Doctor, when I first started this log. But two weeks have passed. Maybe I was wrong, maybe I have longer. It's promising. Maybe nothing bad will happen for just a bit more. Or maybe I'll just keep running along and mess up everything.

Always expect to run when you're with the Doctor. Always.

Not everybody remembers that's what has to be done around him, even the Doctor himself. Sometimes running away is the only solution, to be quite honest. The problem might be too big to handle, or it's just the closest thing to solving it. It's not cowardly, it's just momentary blindness. Or sudden clearness. It's not bad, not all the time. Sometimes running—even though you know it might lead you somewhere worse—is the best to benefit the ones you care about.

…

But I'm rambling, aren't I? We have a story to get back to.

We were running from the Visichek, weren't we?

He's ahead of me by a couple feet with me trailing behind him. We turn a corner and I see the population on the streets start to dwindle with the growing night. Some are giving us odd looks, while others just go on with their business, too busy to pay attention.

"What are those things?" I yell, trying to keep up speed.

"Like I said, Visichek. Alien parasites. Very dangerous, very instinctive. They smell us from miles away."

"Are they fast?" I pant, looking at him.

The Doctor keeps looking straight ahead. "Very."

I look to the sidewalk in front of me. "Perfect."

He takes a sudden right and I follow into a dark alleyway. It's littered with trash and dirt and I'm pretty sure there's a family of rats in the corner having dinner with a bunch of cockroaches. There are three open dumpsters pushed up against the wall, and I skid to a halt as the Doctor hops over and into one of them.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask.

"Covering up my scent!" he explains. "Visichek go off of sent. They can see what they need from a short distance, but they track with their nose."

"And what do they need?" I ask.

His head pops up, covered in grime. "Energy. Living bodies of energy." He crouches back inside. "Now come in here! We've got to get you stinky!"

I back away, but don't hit the wall for fear of touching the mold growing on the cement. "Uh, no thank you. This is a nice coat and I'm pretty sure there are at least five different STDs festering around in all that trash."

"You can't catch things like that from a bin," he argues, oblivious.

I roll my eyes. "It's a hyperbole," I explain.

There's a bang from inside the dumpster. I walk up, concerned, and peer over. "Doctor, you okay? Did you hit someth—shit!"

I'm pulled into the pile of rubbish by a tweed-clad arm and land with a squishing noise that doesn't settle right in my ears.

"I'm pretty sure this is _your_ trench coat and now it's all soggy," I tell him. I stand up. "I hope you're happy."

"No, get back down here," he orders, and pulls back into the waste. "It's you they're looking for, not me. You need to cover up so that we can get somewhere safe."

I hesitantly pick up a handful of trash and start rubbing it on my arm. "Why are they after me? Usually they're after you."

"Well, in normal circumstances with the Visichek, they would be. But this is no ordinary circumstance." He hands me a rotting banana peel. "Rub that on your face."

I take it a grimace, looking at it. "What's different from it being a normal circumstance?" I tentatively rub the peel on my cheek.

"You."

I look to him sharply. "Me? There's nothing special about me."

He shakes his head. "Jenna, you are unfortunately like most of the human race in that you have no idea how important you are. Especially with your specific details."

"My _details_?" I repeat. "What kind of details?"

He doesn't answer me, but instead scoops up some garbage and dumps it on top of me. "There, that should be enough. Now we have to get inside, someplace, that way they can't see you. Or me, for that matter."

He stands up straight and easily pole vaults out of the receptacle. He holds out his hands and I take it, clumsily throwing one leg over the leg and cautiously sliding until my foot hits the ground.

"Can't go to a homeless shelter," he thinks aloud. "That's who they've been using for lodging up until now, to keep themselves out of the picture. All the shops will be closing soon for the holidays…"

An idea hits me. "Doctor, I think I know a place we can go."

He frowns. "Where?"

I fish through my pockets. "You know that lady I was talking to earlier, trying to get directions? I'm pretty sure her name was Clarissa Sampson." The texture of paper touches my fingers and I grip it, pulling it out into the open. "She gave me the paper with directions, but she also wrote down her address for me in case of something."

"Why would you need anything? You're perfectly capable on your own with me."

I smile. "Well, yeah. But…I kind of told her you were mentally disabled."

He squints. "You her _what_?"

"Well, what else was I supposed to tell her?!" I yell in a whisper, in case of getting heard. I lean back and put my hands up in mockery. "'Oh, yeah, that's my friend who's a time travelling alien that I've been travelling with.' She'd put you and me both in the loony bin."

He considers this by nodding his head to the side.

I unfold the paper. "We can probably catch a taxi there. She said she'd be home around eight, and it's…" I fish out my phone. "…7:44. Plenty of time." I put my phone back into my pocket. "Do you have any cash on you?"

"Uh…five British pounds, seven euros, twenty-two Eglesian vittlepans, and…seventy-five American dollars?" he estimates. "Would that be enough for a taxi?"

I nod. "Oh, yeah."

The Doctor grabs my arm. "Let's go! This rubbish won't last for long."

He pulls me out onto the street and we get a couple more stares as he drags me along, walking faster than I am physically able to at the moment.

"Slow down!" I request.

He complies. People navigate themselves around us and I realize how dark it's getting as the snow starts turning less white and begins matching the flashing neon lights lining the streets.

He turns to me and looks confused. "How do you get a taxi, anyway?"

"I don't exactly know," I confess. "I've never done it before. But I've seen how they do it movies."

"And how do they do it in movies?" he asks.

I walk over to the edge of the sidewalk and wave my arm at the traffic, attempting to whistle but failing with lips chapped from being covered in trash and the freezing weather.

"Yoohoo!" I yell. "Oi! Taxi!"

A yellow car slows down and parks next to me, rolling down a window. A gruff looking man gives me and the Doctor a once over and grimaces, getting ready to leave.

"We've got money!" I promise.

He stops and quirks an eyebrow.

I elbow the Doctor, who scrambles and pulls out a whole wad of cash.

The driver's eyes widen and he clicks to unlock the doors. "Get in."

I slide in first, the Doctor following me. I hand the driver the slip of paper. "Take us to the address on the bottom, please."

"Got it," he says. He shifts the car into drive and looks at us through the rearview mirror. "Hey, got any reason for looking like you two do?"

The Doctor and I exchange a glance. "Er, family reunion," he explains quickly.

The driver grins. "I understand, buddy."

And with that he drives off with us inside.

After a minute of driving in silence I turn to the Doctor. "You didn't answer my questions," I remind him bluntly.

He looks at me. "Questions about what?"

"About what my quote-unquote 'details' are," I reiterate. "And why the Visichek want me anyway."

He shifts uncomfortably and drops his voice into a whisper. "Jenna, do you know what separates you from everybody else?"

I frown, but the voice of the TARDIS interface creeps into my mind and out of my mouth. "I'm not from here."

"Yes, exactly," he says. "Now, in every universe there's a different basic energy signature in every organism. The human race is both fortunate and unfortunate in that usually gets the short end of the stick in that area when it comes to dominant species. But there's always a bar for the lowest possible energy signature the universe can have without something being completely nonexistent."

I nod. "Okay. So what does that have to do with me?"

He licks his lips and readjusts himself again, turning more towards me. "In this universe, the lowest possible energy signature is somewhere along the lines of 6.3."

"And what about mine?"

He hesitates. "It's much…_much_ higher."

I raise an eyebrow. "How high?"

"When I landed, the reading said something just over 45.1—maybe higher."

I blink. "That's…substantially more."

"Yes. Yes, it is. Now, add about the average difference between human energy signatures and lowest universal one—which can be rounded up to 23—and your signature is 68.1. Mine is just a wee bit lower than that at 40.2."

"So I'm pretty energized, then?" I ask.

"Yes. And that makes you much more different than the rest of the universe in that aspect, Jenna. And the universe doesn't like that. If you had a lower signature it probably would've dismissed you as an anomaly, butyou are something completely different."

"And how is the universe responding to that?" I ask, trembling.

He shrugs. "Well, the universe's basic overall mission is to keep itself intact and so right now it can't do anything with you. It has no catalyst. You have done no substantial harm to fabric of time and space, such as having your presence rip a hole of some sort. At the moment, you're more of—stretching it, like reality is a rubber glove and you're a hand that's just a size too big."

I gulp, taking in this new information. It's quiet for two long moments before I inhale and speak.

"Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

He looks surprised. "You never asked, and before now there wasn't a situation that involved anything like that."

"So anything I do to change things—like timelines or something—would be catastrophic?"

"Anything of that sort that you had a major part in—yes, yes it would apocalyptic, destroying not only this universe but surrounding ones."

I sit back in seat, realizing that I've pitched myself forward at a forty-five degree angle.

_The Unexpected shall follow the guided task._

Ha, yeah. No way am I doing that now.

"That or the universe would pitch in its plan B, which you've seen before."

I frown, thinking. "Like what happened with the Silence ship? Mis-whooeywhatsit?"

"Misplacement," he says. "That would most likely apply to minor offenses to the fabric of reality. But major events—history changing events would cause tears large enough for universes to bleed into one another and implode on themselves."

I take a deep breath. "Alright. Remind me not to ask you about visiting Martin Luther King, Jr."

He laughs. "Can't go back anyways, I've been there once before."

I smile for a second, but it fades quickly. "So…the Visichek?"

He claps. "Oh, yes! Visichek. Alien parasites, nasty creatures."

"Yes, I've gathered that. But what do they _do_? And what do they want to do with _me_?"

He takes in one long breath. "The Visichek, at their true forms, are no bigger than a snowflake, maybe a bit smaller. More like flakes of ash. And they are little flakes of ash that are symbiotic, sentient, and needy. Very needy."

"Needy for what, exactly?" I ask.

"Energy," he answers simply. "Power. Energy and power, power and energy. That is all they ever look for, and for good reason. As flakes they can't survive, and their body systems are built to keep heating them up, burning them out. As a species they should've killed themselves off long ago due to nature, but they found a loophole instead."

I frown. "You mean, possessing those people?"

He nods. "At the start of Visichek's life, they have the lowest basic energy in the universe. They can't even move on their own, they need to be persuaded by wind and organisms. That's how they've gotten inside the people, through the fire in the rubbish bins. It releases them into the air and the unfortunate ones who crowd around them flame inhale them, letting them into their systems. In order to prolong the inevitable fate of burning themselves out, they search for and seize higher energy signatures. The process is put off, for however long it will take their bodily functions to catch up."

"So what happens if they possess you?" I ask.

I glance at the taxi driver, who's raising an eyebrow but not saying much.

The Doctor is eerily quiet.

I turn back to him. "Doctor, did you hear me?"

He nods. "Yes. Yes, sorry, yes I did. If the Visichek manage to grab a hold of you…they wipe you from your body. Your personality, your memories, your being. They practically kill you, but keep your body alive. You become noth—" He gulps. "—you become nothing but a living corpse, a shadow of a memory."

"Oh," I say, realizing the direness of the situation. "Best get somewhere then, huh?"

"Yes. Yes, that is the goal. If we can wait it out for a few days they'll burn out and we'll be safe and sound."

I squint my eyes at him. "Don't you want to do something? Save the people who've already been possessed or somethi—"

"They're already dead!" he bursts. "Did you not hear me? They're gone, they have been for quite some time. And I can't do anything, because then you'll try to tag along like they always do and…well, you know the rest."

It's quiet for a couple moments before I nod my head.

"So," I begin to say, but my voice has gone crackly. I clear my throat. "So, is that why they want me? Because of my energy signa-whooey?"

"Yes."

I think it over a little. "Why don't they go after you? You're pretty powerful as well."

He nods his head to the side. "Well, of course I am. But I'm the same as everybody, all made of the same particles and came from the same universes. Another red in a sea of scarlet-hued people. You, Quigs, you're a bright beam of blue, standing out compared to everybody else."

"Never knew I was so wanted," I mumble.

"Of course, I'm powerful, but on this planet I'm second best…for once."

I smile and punch him. "Pompous ass."

He rubs the area of impact. "Oi! Anyway, the Visichek are very determined creatures, always going for the highest bid, which would be you. And you have so much energy…they could live for centuries upon end if they got to you. Eat away at your power until they've sucked you dry. And with that much time they could do anything—conquer peoples and galaxies and with physical hands be able to build machines to usurp the universe's energy. And all in your skin."

I stare ahead.

"We can't let them get to me," I state.

"Well, that was already implied, but yes. We can't. And I don't intend them to, anyway."

The cab pulls up to a brownstone buildings with steps leading up to the main door. There's a good covering of snow on the entire area, but the steps have dots peppered across them, small footprints leading inside.

The Doctor pulls out all seventy-five dollars and hands it the cabbie, who stares at him wide-eyed and thanks him before driving off.

I feel a hand on my back as I realize that I am being pushed towards the building.

I stamp my feet into the snow and only succeed in sliding onto my butt.

"Could you go a little slower?" I ask.

"We don't have much time! This garbage will be rubbing off in five minutes, maximum!"

I raise an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"

He averts my gaze. "It was an experiment, and I was bored—shut up! Now let's get inside before they spot us, they musn't be too far behind."

I get up and we walk inside to a cramped lobby, with one front desk and a door behind it, mail cubbies, and a little silver bell attached to the wall with a little bit of string hanging down from it.

I cautiously go up to the bell and tug on the pulley, sending a small tinkling noise through the air. The bell swings back and forth, doing a mock impression of the gigantic bells playing in cathedrals and churches.

_Ding, dong. Ding, dong. Ding, dong._

A couple seconds later a small woman in an apron and her grey hair tied up in a bun bursts through the door and over to the desk, scowling.

"Whadda you lot want?" she asks, in a distinct Irish accent. "It's Christmas Eve! Time for family, not answering bloody bells!"

"Uh…we're family for Mrs. Sampson," I explain.

"Oh, are ya?" she asks in mock surprise. "Well call out the guards! Tell them Mrs. Sampson's got visitors! Because if it's that important then it sure would be to bring me out here while me dear grandson is busy probably taking his first steps without me being there to see it!"

"Uh…um…" the Doctor stutters. "We just want to know her flat number."

The lady rolls her eyes. "Bloody English. She's on third floor, fifth door to the right." She smiles widely. "Got any more stupid questions?"

We shake our heads quickly.

"Good." She pulls the door open. "Merry Christmas!"

The Doctor tugs on the lapels of his jacket, trying to straighten himself out. "Well, somebody isn't imbued with the spirit of Christmas. Perhaps…"

"Ah, ah," I say. "No life-changing, mindfucking, time travel-y version of A Christmas Carol tonight. Maybe next Christmas…which to be fair could be next week if we're lucky."

"Oh, Quigs," the Doctor chastises. "You always underestimate me. We'll be fine, as long as we stay inside."

They've got an elevator, thank god. So we ride up to the third floor—well, the second and the third floor, due to some cultural ambiguity regarding the existence of ground floors and such. But we make it up to the third—the correct third floor—and start walking along the evenly-spaced doors.

"You told her I had a mental disability, yes?" the Doctor asks.

I nod. "Yup."

"So how should I act?" he inquires.

I smile. "Like yourself."

I find the door easily and knock three times. Clarissa answers, wearing what she was before minus the coat and stroller.

"Oh," she says, surprised. "It's you, the girl on the street, uh…Maggie Smith?"

I nod, donning the accent again. "Yes, that's me."

The Doctor looks at me strangely, mouthing 'Maggie Smith?' to me just before I elbow him in the side.

"And this is your uncle?" she asks. "The one with the uh…problems?"

The Doctor nods. "That's me, alright." He sticks out his hand. "John. Pleasure to re-meet you."

She takes it and smiles warmly. "You too."

I take the initiative. "You said that if we needed help of any sort to come to you, right?"

"Hm?" she asks, looking back to me. "Oh, yes. What is it you need, dears?"

"A play to stay," I confess. I look down at the Doctor and I's dirtied attire. "And to wash up, possibly."

"What happened?" she asks, concerned.

"We…got kicked out of our building," I lie. "Our tenant found out about my uncle's condition and he said something along the lines of—"

"'Get out of here, you freak of nature'," the Doctor finishes, looking downtrodden. He's pulling off a good act. "And so we left. And I was very hungry, so I decided to look through some of the bins for freshly thrown out food."

"And I had to pull him out of them," I explain.

Clarissa gapes. "That's horrible! Throwing sweet souls like you out on Christmas Eve!" She opens the door a little wider, moving to the side. "Come in, come in. But be quiet, I just got Imogene to sleep for the night. Hopefully."

We step inside. The apartment is simple, with a small kitchen and a sitting room with a radio pushed against the wall and playing a low fuzzy murmur reminiscent of "O Come, O Come Emmanuel". The tables have stitched doilies, and the chairs and couches are a velvet red. There are two other doors in the apartment, one most likely leading to the lavatory and the other to the bedroom where Imogene is sleeping. I look around, and notice something missing.

"Where's your husband?" I ask.

She turns to me with a sad smile on her face. "He's not here anymore. He died."

_Idiot idiot idiot idiot why did you have to ask her—_

"That's unfortunate," the Doctor comments. "We're so sorry."

She shakes her head. "It's fine, really. It was almost a year ago, so it's not like I'm still grieving in an unmoving state or anything." She moves over to the kitchen, where something is obviously cooking. "And as a new mother I get asked that question quite a lot."

I gulp. "Do you mind me asking, er…how?"

She busies herself with pouring something into cups—I believe it's something alcoholic—and laughs. "I had always been telling Bob that his heart would be the cause of it, in the end, by his eating habits. One of those types that could consume fifty pounds worth of food and still keep slim, you know? But unluckily for him I guess a car engine bet against me and won." She looks up at me and the Doctor standing awkwardly in the sitting room. "Oh, go sit down, lovelies. I've been meaning to find a reason to replace those things for something brighter."

We submit and sit down, relaxing for once.

"I was five months pregnant with Genie at the time, halfway through term," she continues. "She was the only thing that held me together, really. I mean, I couldn't just disconnect from the world with another person inside of me. I visited the in-laws today, they loved her. Said she has his eyes." She smiles, and I can see her eyes starting to glisten. "They're right, too. Some people say she looks exactly like me, but all I see is him. So I've still got a bit of him with me, I suppose."

"That's beautiful," I exhale.

She laughs. "Please. I'm not poet. Just a widow."

"But you're pretty damn strong!" I tell her. I cover my mouth. "Excuse me, sorry. Uh, for the language and the volume."

It's quiet for a moment as she stares at the bedroom door, waiting for a sound. There is none. "It's okay," she says back. She brings over the drinks and goes back for her own before sitting next to the radio and turning it up slightly as "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" chimes on. "And I guess you could say that I am—as you put it—'pretty damn strong'." She sighs. "Never get pregnant to a man who won't be there, kid. Being a single mother isn't all it's cracked up to be, what with people turning you down for job offers or relatives advising you to look for a new husband. I'm happy here, where I am."

"Good," I say. "You should be. And you seem to be."

She nods, taking a sip of her drink. I follow, and am greeted by a cold and bitter taste. The Doctor takes ones large sip and proceeds to dribble it back out into the cup.

"Ugh, what is that?" I ask.

"Brandy," she tells me. "Got it as a gift."

"Tastes horrible," the Doctor comments.

"Well usually alcohol isn't used for the taste, honey."

I laugh a little. "I like you," I tell her, bringing our glasses together and clinking them. I try to take another small sip, because hey it's Christmas Eve and it's not like I haven't taken sips of things before, but I end up just barely being able to swallow it down.

"So how long do you think you'll need to be here for?" Clarissa asks.

"Three…maybe four days," the Doctor answers, still looking at the drink in his hand with disgust. "Just to recuperate. Christmas hasn't been very easy on us, it's a very…blargity time."

I laugh. "Blargity?" I ask.

"It's a word," the Doctor says. "On the planet Carivol, 'blargity' holds the same meaning as, say, 'horrible' or 'bad'."

Clarissa raises an eyebrow. "The planet Carivol, you say?" she asks, sounding interested. I stare at her, and she just looks back at me as if to say 'let's play along to your uncle's whims, alright?'

The Doctor doesn't notice any of this happening. "Yes, wonderful planet! They _sell_ stardust to people, as a fabric! The dresses are wonderful, always win first place at the annual intergalactic fashion shows they have. Now, they're not normal fashion shows, however, seeing as the models have to also fight to the death—which is quite fortunate, seeing as stardust is also very sharp."

"Then how to the people of Carivol wear them?" I ask, curious.

"Well Carivolians are a rock species, Qu—Maggie. I believe I've already told you this."

I frown. "Did you?"

"Yes, on the way to Ilium 6, I mentioned the Carivolian fashion shows going on the next planet over. Weren't you listening?"

"Eh, sometimes I'll hear words but other times I think you're making up your own language."

He looks offended briefly, but then beams. "I actually did, once!" He turns to Clarissa. "Do you want to hear it?"

She smiles. "Oh, of course. I'm loving these stories."

So he does. And we laugh. Clarissa begins to prepare Christmas dinner for the two us, even though she already ate, and Imogene wakes up after the pan holding the potatoes waiting to be placed in the oven drops. Clarissa brings her out, and the Doctor speaks to the infant as I help with the food. It turns out to be a very intellectual conversation as well. Everything is going fine, for once.

In retrospect, I should've known that it wouldn't last.

**#**

**Just to let you know, I've had this storyline in my head for about a month and you have no idea how great it is to finally express it.**

**RandomCitizen: Haha, yes she is very aggressive. That's why she's one of my favorite characters.**

**Ivy Stonewell: Uh, I haven't planned on any more companions as of late. Sorry, love. I've just got a storyline to get through and really Amy and Rory only came up in the last minute when I was planning this segment out.**

**HP2011: I'm glad you thought that! You were practically spot on!**

**Nicoleisawesmazing: Oh, ho ho! You're getting there, somewhat. I'm afraid that what I have planned is a little more different than that, if not to be slightly more heartbreaking. I actually cried at the thought of the idea. But you never know, maybe I'm wrong…**

**See you next week!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	29. Fire and Ice, Part 4

**Hi! Okay, I'm not doing reviews for this chapter for some specific reasons.**

**However, I will advise you to look up and listen to "Carol of the Bells" (specifically the Robert Shaw Chorale version) near the end of the chapter—I centered it around that song specifically, and I got the idea of this entire chapter from it as well.**

**Carry on!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

"Now, now—yes, I _know_ that usually big things in the sky aren't very good things, but the sun is nothing to worry about…No, the long things coming off of it aren't spikes or lasers, there's simply rays of sunlight hitting the atmosphere…Yes, it is very bright, isn't it? Don't worry, your human-y eyes will get used to it in time."

I smile as I watch the Doctor and Imogene talk. Or, rather, watch the Doctor talk and Imogene make small little noises or movements. Clarissa is next to me, chopping up some potatoes on the cutting board.

"Could you pass me the onions?" she asks. I hear it, but don't really comprehend it. Too tired. She taps me on the shoulder. "Hey, sweetheart?"

I understand that, and turn to her. "Hm?"

"Could you pass me the onions?" she asks.

I nod quickly and hand over two of the red papery vegetables. She takes them and begins peeling them delicately.

"You don't have to do this, you know," I tell her.

She looks up at me. "Do what?"

"Make dinner. Take us in. I mean, you've got other things to worry about."

She smiles. "It's alright, darling. I can't have you two out on the streets and starving, now can I?"

"But you barely even know us," I point out, laughing slightly at the incredulousness of it all.

"Every friend's a stranger at first," she tells me. "That's what my mother told me when I was little. And you're nice, you two don't patronize me like some other people have."

"Patronize you?" I ask, curious.

"'Oh, a poor young lady like you out on your own like that? Doing work? That's not what a mother's supposed to do!'" she quotes in a high mocking voice. She shakes her head. "Mrs. Wallis from floor six always says that. She's got that amnesia the elderly have, you know? So she always repeats it."

"I think you're brilliant, doing what you're doing," I say, scooping the potatoes on the cutting board into my hands and dropping them into the pot behind me. "And screw anyone else who doesn't."

"Screw?" she asks, laughing. "What's that, some sort of British slang?"

I pause. "Yeah, I guess. What I mean to say is that you should just ignore what they say, stand up for yourself. Unless you're already doing that, of course."

"I just let it pass," she sighs. "Not much I can do, really."

"Maybe not now," I consider. "But in the future, possibly. Where it isn't as rare, or as frowned upon. Where woman have top executive jobs and the like."

Clarissa laughs. "Please, like that's ever going to happen." She starts chopping the newly peeled onion. "I'm fine where I am, really."

I shrug. "Alrighty, then. I'm just saying…later on, maybe it will happen."

"You're uncle must be rubbing off of you," she comments.

I smile. "Good."

I don't see the smoke at first, but more of smell it. I cough a little, looking down and watching as gray wisps crawl out from the oven. I grab a towel and try to wave the smoke away.

"Is everything alright in there?" the Doctor yells from the sitting room. Imogene starts to get a little upset.

"Oh, damn it!" Clarissa shouts, opening the door and letting more smoke escape. She puts her hand over her mouth. "Must've left the chicken in for too long."

She grabs oven mitts and pulls the poultry out, setting it on the stove above and coughing some more.

"Open the window a little, Maggie," she instructs. "We can air this place out."

I nod and run out of the kitchen, opening the nearest window a couple inches and coughing a little more.

The Doctor appears in the small space between the kitchen counter and wall. "Is everything okay?"

I nod, my eyes stinging and starting to water. "Yeah," I force out. "Yeah, everything's fine." I cough again.

Clarissa sighs. "Well, the chicken's going to be a little crispy." She turns to us. "I hope you don't mind."

"Trust me, I definitely have had worse," I say.

Planet of the Tangerians. They recycle their own waste for produce. I don't want to dive into details.

We sit down for dinner and eat in comfortable silence, with Imogene giggling patting her hands on her highchair, until Clarissa sets her fork down and leans forward.

"So…tell me about your selves," she requests.

The Doctor and I exchange a glance.

"Uh…well," I say, mouth full. I swallow. "Uh…I've got a mother, John's sister. No father, though. He—died, back in town. Very tragic, but I was only three and didn't know much better."

"That's terrible!" she says.

I wave it off. "Nothing else to do about it, really."

Clarissa looks over to the Doctor. "What about you, John? Got anything interesting?"

"I come from the town of…Gallifrey-on-Avon," he lies. "Very nice place. It was a great place to grow up in."

"Oh? Why did you move?"

His eyes dart around for a moment. "It got too stuffy for me. Left it behind, went off around England doing this and that until she caught up with me."

"Who's she?" Clarissa asks.

"Rose," the Doctor answers immediately.

"Your sister?"

He hesitates. "Sure. Yes, we were very close."

"_Were_?"

He blinks at his mistake and waves it off quickly. "Oh, you know. Different life paths. We got separated, for a bit. And then we got back to together…with Maggie. And she wanted to go to America, so I said yes because this is _quite_ a country you have here, I must say."

"Has life been very hard?" Clarissa asks quickly. She shakes her head. "If you don't mind me asking, that is. I've just heard from others that living in the world is pretty tough for somebody with your, uh…handicap."

"My what?" the Doctor asks momentarily confused. I elbow him, giving him a jump start. "Oh! Yes, that. Well, it's been a bit…trying in some instances, I guess."

"Shame," she says. "My aunt Bernice had a disability. Can't remember what, exactly, but she was the sweetest thing you'd ever seen." She turns back to me. "Where do you live before you guys came to America?"

Another shared glance.

"Uh.." I stutter. "It's really—"

"—hard to explain," the Doctor continues. "You know, different area codes…"

"…different cities, towns," I finish. I pick up the warm glass of brandy I've kept and try to take another sip. I spit it back into the glass. "Some you probably haven't heard of."

"Oh, I hear my tenant talking out the letters she writes to her friends," she says, crossing her arms. "Mrs. O'Hall. She's Irish, very loud."

"I know," the Doctor and I mutter in offbeat unison.

"She talks about things like that all the time, always yabbering about Cork and politics and things like that, I think I've memorized the Parliament system down to a tee. And Bob used to study maps around the world in his free time, try to find the places he had to fight." She leans back. "Try me."

I hesitate. "Well, th—John said he grew up in Gallifrey-on-Avon, which was just south of Manchester," I tell her. "Very tiny town. And I grew up in the…the West Division of East Sussex near Bristol." I pause for a moment. "On the Thames."

The Doctor gives me an odd look and I kick him in the shin.

Clarissa frowns. "I haven't seen that on any of Bob's maps."

"It's a small division of London, you'd need one of those large maps the size of walls to see it."

After a long dinner we sit down on the couch as Clarissa cleans the dishes at her insistence.

I sit there, watching the Doctor blabber on to Clarissa seeing as Imogene had to be put to bed halfway through dinner. The radio's been turned off, but through the crack of the window I can hear the faint sound of carolers making their way down the streets. I check the clock. It's almost 11:40.

Time flies by when you're hiding from aliens, I guess.

A thought strikes me and I start laughing.

The Doctor turns to me. "What is it? Did I get a stain?"

I shake my head. "No. No, it's just—this is _scarily_ similar to…" I start laughing again.

He walks towards me while Clarissa smiles, going back to her dishes.

"To what, Je—Maggie?" he asks.

"To that one episode," I tell him, quieter but still laughing. I drop the accent.

"Of what? Of me?"

I nod, still laughing slightly. "You know, back with Martha? When you had to be human for god knows how long? It was a two-parter—what were the episodes called? Human Nature and Family of Blood, yeah."

"Wasn't that the one with the bloke that was always smirking?" he asks.

I laugh. "Yeah. That's one of my favorites, seeing you go human and having all those human feelings on your face. The mystery around it all, and the quotes from there…some of the most memorable, I'd say. Like the 'fire and ice and rage' one, that one's just too damn good."

He smirks. "Was it?"

"And there was Martha, too. Being a badass and sticking up for herself, even though she had to be a handmaid for the better part of three months and be stuck under the bottom of every stick-ups shoe." I grimace. "Ugh, I could never do that."

He smiles for a moment but it quickly drops into a frown, with him breaking eye contact and looking just a fraction away from me like he always does in deep thought. "Funny…"

I tilt my head to the side. "What's funny?"

He shakes his head and looks back to me. "Nothing. Nothing, just…I thought I _remembered_ something—someone, actually. But that can't be right." He takes a quick breath and shifts. "But you're right—they are alike. In fact, the Family actually descended from the Visichek, evolved from them. Captured life force instead of energy, figured out how to manipulate technology. The same instinctual gifts. Though sight was removed, they still had…" He frowns deeper, and his eyes go wide. "…smell."

"Doctor?" I ask. He stands up straight and stares into space. "Doctor, what's wrong?"

"How long has that window been open?" he whispers.

"…about 3-4 hours," I tell him. "Why?"

He turns back to me. "Visichek! Trace by smell! And _yours_—" He goes up to the window and slams it shut, surprising Clarissa into dropping a plate into the sink. "—has been floating around New York. Above the ground, yes, but detectable enough for them to notice. And the closer they get, the more this flat becomes a beacon for them to you."

"…they could find us," I realize.

"They _have_ found us, and more importantly they've found _you_." He does a one-eighty spin, face grave. "We need to get out of here."

Clarissa frowns. "Excuse me? Visi-whowhats?"

The Doctor walks up to Clarissa. "I'm sorry. I'm very sorry, but you need to take Imogene and get out of here, now, if you value your safety."

She blinks. "What? Why?"

"There are some very, very nasty buggers coming our way," I explain. "And we need to leave."

"You've dropped your accent," she points out.

"I know I have," I say. "Now listen, Clarissa. We were also out on the streets because…because we got associated with some very bad people. Loans and things, and they've been searching for us. We thought we were safe, that all of us were safe but—they've got dogs on us. And we need you and your daughter to leave this place for a couple of days."

Her eyes widen. "Who are you people?"

"We're still Maggie and John Smith," I lie. "All the same. Personality and everything. And you're going to have to trust us for a bit."

Okay, I realize that entire statement in slightly contradicting but we'll move away from that.

She nods, and runs out of the kitchen, going to her room. There's a couple banging sounds, and almost a minute later she's got her coat on and the baby in her arms.

"I'm going to take her out to the street and hail her a cab," the Doctor says. "You stay here. You're still less detectable here, they'll have to search the rooms one by one. And I'll be back by then, okay?"

I nod. "Okay."

He grabs Clarissa's arm and leads her out of the door, slamming it behind him. I peer out the window and watch, waiting until two figures fly into view, their shadows stretching beyond sight in the glow of the street lamps. I see the taller figure whistle and a yellow cab pull to the side of the road. The smaller figure hurries in and there's an exchange between the larger figure and the driver, and the cab drives off. The taller figure heads back towards the building.

Everyone's safe. Everything's alright.

I thought that, then. I am such a fucking idiot sometimes.

So much of an idiot that when there's a knocking at the door less than fifteen seconds later, I believe it to be him. Obviously I don't take into account that the door is unlocked, or that if it was locked anyways he could sonic it open. No, I don't . And so I open the fucking door.

"Oh," I say, greeted by the face of an old Irish woman. "You're the tenant, aren't you? Mrs. O'Hall? Yeah, Clarissa's out right now, sorry."

"It does not matter," she says, her voice switching between her Irish accent and…something else. "We do not need Clarissa."

I frown. "Then why—"

For a second, but a long enough second for me to notice, her eyes flash orange.

"We need you."

My eyes widen. "Doctor!" I cry out, backing away from the door.

Mrs. O'Hall follows me. "You shall be our new home," they say.

I turn and back my way into the counter, searching for anything to help me escape, and the lady corners me. She opens my mouth, and it's like a thousand tiny orange pixels begin rushing out. I find a lone pan handle jutting out from the sink and grasp it. And I can feel them trying to climb inside of me, like smoke. And they're getting closer and closer to me and—

"I'm really sorry," I breathe out, swinging the pan round and knocking what used to be Mrs. O'Hall upside the head. She falls down.

I look at her for only a moment before I start to run, fast.

I head towards the lift.

"Elevator, elevator," I mumble, pressing the button.

The door opens to several homeless people staring at me blankly.

"Stairs," I mumble, turning and running. "Stairs, I've got to find the goddamn stairs."

I run down the hallway as fast as I can, with the Visichek just fifteen feet behind me. I scan the doors for some sort of sign indicating "HEY, HERE'S YOUR ESCAPE HATCH".

I grab the handle of a door labeled "Emergency Exit" and open it, shutting it behind me and giving a small sigh of relief for just a small snippet of time. I was never made for running.

There's the sound of footsteps from down the stairwell.

"We need you," a thousand voices chime all at once.

I resume my activities and make a change of direction, heading upwards.

This building is eight stories high, mind you. And I was on the third floor.

Five flights of stairs should've exhausted me, made me collapse. But instinct is a funny thing and that 'fight or flight' response can be helpful when startled into action.

At the top of it all in a door that I push open onto the roof, closing it behind me.

I need an escape, I need an escape…They can't get me, I can't let them do all of those things using my hands and my voice. Isn't there a fire escape? Yeah, but I can a couple people in ratty clothes at the bottom, looking up and waiting. How many people have they gotten to, anyways? The homeless, Mrs. O'Hall…did they get her grandson? She mentioned that she has a grandson, didn't she?

The carolers are still singing below, their voices floating up the top of the building where I stand.

"_Hark! how the bells, sweet silver bells._

_All seem to say, throw cares away."_

The door opens, and a flood of people come spilling forth, eyes all glowing like suns. I back up until I'm at the edge of the building, just above the sidewalk that lies below.

They start to circle me, slowly, like lions stalking prey. I take a step up on the ledge, and my other foot follows.

I can't get out. Nowhere to go, and if they get me all hell breaks loose. Changing timelines in my body ripping apart the fabric of reality. All because I don't belong here, I shouldn't be here.

Maybe that's what the interface was meaning to say all along: "If you stay here, then there is guaranteed disaster."

"_Gaily they ring while people sing_

_Songs of good cheer Christmas is here."_

A loud gong rings through the air, signaling the change. It is midnight. Merry Christmas.

They're still moving in, slowly but surely. Still some ways away.

Only a couple more days without a more energized host and they'd be gone. Dead. Time would march on, going the same as it always has.

_Change the timeline. Destroy the Doctor._

What if this is it? This is my act, my choice. My destiny. To let the Visichek make my body a puppet and rip everything to shreds. My set destiny, to ruin the Doctor. To destroy him.

I just can't let that happen.

"_Oh how they pound, raising their sound_

_O'er hill and dale, telling their tale."_

The Visichek need a body full of energy, right? And in order to have energy you have to be able to move. To live. Otherwise the level drops, substantially. Makes sense, I think. It would work.

I look over my shoulder. I can see the crowd of carolers just a couple buildings away, a cluster of people. Their voices are amazing.

Snow is falling so slowly…falling…

"_Merry merry merry merry Christmas_

_Merry merry merry merry Christmas."_

The door bangs open again, the Doctor's voice carrying over to my ears.

"Quigs, it's a trap! They're here, they're…" He stops, looking at the sight before him.

"We need the girl," they say in unison. "The Unexpected One."

They need a living host first, to gather all their energy. If their host isn't living, it has to energy to begin with.

Right?

"Jenna, I need you to stay calm," the Doctor instructs. "I'll figure a way out of this, I'm doing it right now. Just stay still and _don't move_."

It's a guess, but it's the best guess I've got if it means that everything will be alright. The universe, humanity, and especially him. Because this can't happen now, and the world can't lose him yet.

I'm crying by now, but I can the outline of him past all the others.

Always expect to run when you're with the Doctor. Always. Because sometimes running—even though you know it might lead to somewhere worse—si the best to benefit the ones you care about."

"_On, on they send, on without end_

_Their joyful tone, to ev'ry home."_

I look at him, straight in the eye.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, loud enough so that he can hear.

"_Ding."_

I take a step back, feeling nothing beneath me. My other foot follows.

"_Dong."_

Everything falling. The snow, me. Everything cascading downwards with my coat billowing in the air. Falling, falling.

"_Ding."_

Impact, pain.

"_Dong."_

And then nothing.

**#**

**See you next week.**

**-JustStandingHere**


	30. Fire and Ice, Part 5

**Yes, so as you can see I sort of Moffat'd. Mind you, I didn't mean to, but it fit.**

**Now, I'm not going to say that things are going to be sunshine and rainbows here. In fact, it never was going to be in the first place. Happy endings aren't exactly my strong point anyways.**

**However, the story still goes on!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

At first there's nothing, just a numbness and loss of feeling like my entire body has fallen asleep.

But then there's pain. Lots of pain. Never ending pain that drowns me and makes me feel numb again until I can feel the last of myself slipping away into oblivion.

It stays like that, for what seems to be eons. Just me holding onto the last thread of life. But steadily the thread forms into a rope, and I'm hanging over death but I've got a strong enough grip to hoist myself out of it. And there's hands helping me, supporting me and lifting me up until I'm emerging from the numbness and back into the pain.

I can feel glass and hear a grinding sound and taste petrichor in my mouth.

But I'm not really focusing on that. Instead, I'm focusing on the throbbing ache in my head.

"Hnnggg," I groan, gritting my teeth. I open my eyes. I'm lying on the floor of the console room, on my side. I'm in the TARDIS. I'm safe.

But that can't be possible.

I move my head around, stretching my neck and hearing it pop in unfamiliar ways. I roll my shoulders and sit up, coming to the sudden realization that my back is experiencing the throbbing, sharp ache shared with my head.

I look up and spy the Doctor leaning over the console, looking down and not acknowledging me. He has that face, that 'utter-concentration-of-my-faults' face that tells you something went wrong. I'm afraid to know that.

"Doctor?" I ask, rubbing my eyes.

He looks at me, setting up an obvious façade. "Oh. Quigs, you're awake! Good, was wondering when you would. Absolutely dull waiting for you."

I grip the rail and stand up as he begins to circle the console, flicking switches this way and that.

"What happened?" I ask.

"I saved you, simple as that," he answers, not looking at me. "Now, where should we go next? The Red Forests of Alberdon are lovely in the summer, but we'll have to go before the Great Catastrophe of 7099. My fault, was still learning the culture."

"But I was falling off of a building," I tell him. "To my death, and you were nowhere near the TARDIS. Another sharp stab pulses up my back and to the top of my skull. "And why does my head hurt so much?"

"Phantom pains from a timeline that halfway didn't happen," he explains quickly. He turns to me, smiling. "But let's not worry about that, shall we? We have places to go, people to see. We could go visit the Lost Moon of Poosh, which is no longer lost thanks to myself and couple others, as you recall. Lovely folk, Pooshlings. Famous for being friendly, and _wonderful_ company once you get past the pinchers and spikes on their nose."

"Timeline that halfway didn't happen?" I ask. He ignores me and continue to pilot until I block him and smack his hands away from the controls. "Doctor, what happened? I was going to die and now suddenly I'm not dead, which makes no sense. Now tell me exactly what happened and _don't lie_, because I know when you are and it just makes things worse."

He stares at me for a moment and the smile fades into rage.

"Fine," he spits out. "You want to know?" He walks over to the chair and picks up a folded series of papers. He tosses it to me. "It's at the bottom of page one."

I frown and look down. It's a newspaper, labeled the 26th of December, 1948. The top of the first page is facing me, talking about a shooting that occurred somewhere near Central Park. I flip the paper to the bottom and read the heading out loud, slowly.

"Tragedy Strikes," it says. "Girl Commits Suicide on Christmas." Next to it is a picture of Clarissa's apartment building, with the caption, "Scene of the event. The bang alerted many residents to call authorities."

"December 26th," I mutter, shaking. "Why is this newspaper from the 26th?"

"They give their employees the holiday off," he explains, tone even and unchanging.

"It says here that I'm dead," I say. "That I'm truly dead, so how am I alive right now? Am I even alive?"

"Yes, you are alive," he reassures me. "I made sure of that. It's complicated, full of half-happened timelines and choices and things you aren't interested in."

"Then how is this real?" I ask him, bordering on shouting. I throw the newspaper down. "How did you escape the Visichek, and what the hell does it mean for a timeline to have 'half-happened'?"

He looks down. "I think you should take a seat, Jenna," he says.

I blink, still tense and angry. "Fine," I say, stomping over and sitting down.

He doesn't look at me and resumes staring at the controls, absentmindedly flicking switches and pressing buttons.

"That night, at the top of the building—you did fall," he says. "You fell, straight to the ground. I didn't have time to see you land. I had to run, before they got to me. So I ran. I ran throughout the city until they died off, one by one. Some weren't by natural causes."

My heart stops. "You killed them."

He hesitates. "Yes. Yes, I did. They were no longer human, they were just monsters."

"But you always give people a chance," I tell him.

"Oh, I have them a chance," he says, gaining a wild look in his eye. "And they threw it away when they pushed you off."

"But I decided to do it," I argue. "To stop them, I stepped off of that building, you know that."

"Yes, but if they weren't _there_…" He gulps. "If they didn't exist anymore, then none of it would happen."

"Killing them changes nothing, past or future," I point out. "They were going to die out anyways."

"That's not the _point!_" he seethes, looking at me and pointing. "I did it for you, to avenge you, can't you see that?"

I gulp. "Doctor, you're scaring me."

His face softens and his arm drops. "Right," he says, his voice much quieter. "Of course, yes. Sorry."

I sigh. "So after they all died…in one way or another…you got back inside the TARDIS, yeah?"

"Yes," he says. "And I travelled, for a bit."

"You what?" I ask. But then I look at him. Truly look at him, and see that his clothes have changed from when I last saw him. "For how long?"

"Two months," he admits. "It wasn't very fun."

"Two months alone?" I repeat. "All by yourself, with nobody else?"

"Until yesterday," he says. "Yesterday I went back to the 26th to grab that." He points to the newspaper.

"Why?"

"To find out the time, Quigs, the newspapers always say the approximate time that…things like this happen."

I can almost the small clicking sound in my mind as I work it out. "You went back in time and saved me."

"Yes."

There's a pause before I speak. Why would you do something so stupid like that?"

He frowns. "What?"

"Changing the course of events is idiotic, you idiot! You said yourself that anything having to do with me and messing up time could end up with the fucking apocalypse!"

"Because I could!" he shouts back. "Because just this once—just this once I wanted everybody to live. To not lose somebody, to see you alive and happy even if it's just for another ten minutes, I just wanted to _see_ that, and I could! I have the power to right at my fingers, and so I used it. How is that idiotic?"

I stare at him, with the look in his eye of him slipping and his posture hopeless and confident at the same time.

I gulp. "Now see this is what happens when you're alone." I stand up, feeling the phantom pains in my back and head again. "You get so goddamn arrogant and destructive—and that's not you. That should never be you, ever."

He doesn't respond, but his eyes dull and his shoulder fall.

"So promise me this, Doctor, please," I request, "if you're alone again just—talk to someone. You don't have to get a new companion, just…don't isolate yourself. Talk to River, to Craig, to anybody. But don't wallow in your sadness and grief and hatred. Because it's really pathetic of you."

He still doesn't respond.

"Doctor," I urge in a stern voice, or the best I can muster. "Promise me."

He shifts around and looks down. "I promise," he mutters in a voice bordering on a whisper.

"Good," I whisper. "Good." I frown. "Now I've got one more question."

He looks up at me, ready to answer.

"What did you mean when you said 'even if it's just for another ten minutes'?"

He paces around the console, monitoring the dials and buttons. "People make split timelines all the time. When they make choices, when they decide to do one thing instead of another. And the universe compensates for it all, even if there's time travel involved. They're not fixed points, they can be changed. It's the fundamental catalyst for how the universe works. However, you are not just people. And you having a split timeline can't be solved as easily as others."

"What do you mean?"

"The universe couldn't cover it, make what was a never could be. So it didn't. Which means that there are two of you existing at the same point in your timeline, one dead and one alive. And that can't be possible." He flips one of the switches and the TARDIS and the area shakes a little. He shakes his head and slams his hand on one of the buttons and the room settles again. "You can still feel it, if you close your eyes."

"I don't want to," I tell him. I'm beginning to shake now. "So…why hasn't reality ripped itself apart?"

"Because this wasn't a fixed point," he says. "It was written, but there was no name, no set identification. It could've been anyone."

I sigh. "That's good."

"But the universe is still not very happy…about any of it. So it must resort to its Plan B."

I grip the sides of the chair, letting out a shaky breath. "Misplacement…"

"Exactly."

I gulp and look down at my knees.

"Well that's not so bad," I consider shakily. "I mean, I'll end up somewhere in New York. I could contact you, somehow. Draw crop circles and make odd little things happen."

"You won't end up in New York," he tells me quietly. "Look around you."

I frown. "I'll end up in the TARDIS? Well isn't that better?"

He stops pressing buttons and looks at the scanner, still not looking at me. "When misplacement happens, the subject is placed into the Time Vortex, sent to a set random date at a specific place. If it doesn't reach that place, it waits until another catalyst arrives for the object to be sent back into the Time Vortex."

I blink a couple times. "And this is relevant because…?"

"Because, Jenna Quigley," he says, turning around. He never says my full name, ever. "The TARDIS always has her shields up—well, almost always. And that means nothing foreign can get in, especially when it's travelling throughout the time vortex. So _you_—" He slams down on one of the levers again. "—will have to wait longer than most people, jumping around my timeline and getting sucked back into the vortex every time I dematerialize, past and future."

"Jumping around your timeline…" I whisper.

"Which, in it of itself isn't half bad," he considers. "There's a huge chance we'll meet again. But we don't know how long it'll be for the both of us. By the time you find the right me I might be…" He swallows the rest of the words. "Well, it doesn't matter right now. We can worry about it later."

"I'm going to be jumping around on your timeline…" I repeat.

He continues. "This was the best option I could muster for the both of us. I mean, you get to live and still travel with me. The other options weren't applicable to either of those things."

"No no no fuck fuck fuck…" I mutter. I lace my fingers in my hair, pulling it taught.

"We've only got another four minutes," he continues, still circling the console sadly. "You have your essentials in your pockets…TARDIS key and mobile phone. But _don't_ enter the TARDIS unless you're certain you've got the right me or else you're stuck there. And don't forget to—Quigs, are you alright?"

I hear him, but keep swearing and cursing. "Shit shit no no _no_," I whisper. I can't take it anymore. I stand up and begin pacing back and forth. "No this was _not_ supposed to happen. Not today, not ever. I mean, I thought it was crazy that I could change anything but now that _this_ has happened well I might as well just throw everything else off of a building…again."

"Jenna what are you talking about?" he asks, cautiously.

"Take me back," I order him. "Take me back to the rooftop; have me die a second time."

"No! I did this for you, to keep you _alive,_ are you insane?"

"Well I can't let it happen, can I? Then they'd be right. I thought my decision earlier might've been it—but it's got to be this and I'm _not_ letting myself follow their little schemes, no way."

"Jenna—"

"Take me back."

"Jenna, please. I'll have no more of it."

There's a long pause and a pleading look in his eyes that tell that it has definitely been longer than two months for him.

I nod. "Okay. Fine."

"Now you said something about 'their little schemes'. Who are 'they'?"

I shift around. "It's…it's nothing."

His face morphs into that of concern. "Are you being forced to do something?"

"No!" I say. "Well…not exactly…"

He looks at me, straight in the eye. "Jenna. Who are they?"

I lick my lips, taking a deep breath. "Some time ago…back where I'm from. The Silence ship, yeah?"

He nods. "I can recall that, I think."

I frown. "You _think_?"

"It's a little fuzzy, always has been," he says. "I'm not like you. Half of that mission is lost to memory."

"Well you remember the ship, yeah? And me passing out?" He nods. "They took me to this room, strapped me down…and they told me to do something."

"Jenna, where is this going?"

"No! No, it's not like that," I reassure him. "They told me a prophecy."

"And what did that prophecy say?" he asks slowly.

I take a deep breath. "_Silence will fall when the question is asked—_"

"—oh, I've heard that one before—"

"—_the Unexpected will follow the guided task_," I finish at same time he talks.

It's quiet for a couple seconds.

"Come again?" he requests.

I exhale a shuddering breath. "_The Unexpected will follow the guided task._"

"That's new," he mutters, pacing a little bit and turning back to me. "And what is this task."

"They said," I reiterate, "that the task was to change the timeline and…and—"

"And what?"

"Destroy the Doctor."

"And how long have you known this?"

Before you can remember. "A while." I see him begin to get angry. "And I didn't tell you because—because you already have to face your death and I thought I could handle it on my own. Just stay out of important things and not reveal anything huge."

"Jenna, you should've told me."

"But I was _handling_ it, I even stopped something borderline catastrophic happening at one point to save you. But now you just had to save me because that's what you_ always_ do and now I'm literally jumping around your timeline and—"

"Quigs, I am sorry," he says, placing his hands on my shoulders. "I am so, so sorry. But you're _alive_."

"Yes, I'm alive," I say. "I'm alive and now I'm going to be fucking up the universe because I'm alive and I may never see you again and you'll end up travelling all by yourself again and we both know that's not good."

"You don't know that," he says. "We both don't know that."

"You've got 160 years left and from what I've seen I'm not in that bit, especially near the end," I snap. His grip on my shoulders loosens and I realize my mistake. "No, no. Forget that, please."

"There's no time to worry anymore," he says. "You've got one minute left."

"Like hell I'll stop worrying!" I yell, pushing him away. "This can't happen, I thought I'd have longer, and it's not fair."

"Life isn't fair," the Doctor says. "It cheats and doesn't do what you ask it to. But promise me, Jenna, that you'll be safe until I see you again."

"That's if you're going to see me again," I remind him.

He shrugs. "160 years. That's quite a lot of time."

I nod. "Yeah, it is, isn't it?" I laugh a little, but it's not very genuine. I swallow the lump that's been crawling up my throat again and feel my eyes begin to water. "I can do that. A promise for a promise, yeah?"

He smiles sadly when the world around me flashes with bright white light, pulsing rapidly a couple times before dying down again. I look down at myself, checking to see that I'm okay.

"It's starting," he says.

I look back up to him. "What?"

"You've got fifteen seconds left at the most," he says. He backs away from me. "Jenna Quigley, I hope to see you again in the future."

The light begins to pulse and I go into panic.

"What? No, no it can't start!" I yell, mostly to myself. "No, shit, make it stop! Stop it, this can't happen, Doctor." I look at his darkened silhouette through blurry eyes. "Please! You can't be—"

My stomach drops and I follow it, experiencing the feeling of being torn apart and put back together all at once. I close my eyes, but even then I can see the bright light pulsing and moving and shifting around me. It's agonizing and it just needs to end, somebody make it end…

…and it does, as quick as it began. There's solid ground beneath my feet, pavement. Cars rushing past me, people walking by. I'm on Earth, standing next to an alleyway in some vague city, completely and utterly—

I slump against the wall, dragging my back on the brick foundation until I hit the ground. I finally let the tears fall as I finish my sentence in a whisper.

"—alone."

**#**

**Review? :)**

**-JustStandingHere**


	31. Solam Entis, Part 1

**Ah, yes. Good to see you guys again! Okay, so Jenna's going to be on her own for a bit, and we will be meeting some companions. Sort of. Kind of. Actually, rarely, now that I think about it.**

**Also, TRIGGER WARNING. Remember Jenna's "problem"? Yeah…be wary of that.**

…**Yeah**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

You remember what I said the first time the Doctor left me. How I acted, don't you? You could call me dependent, and I guess I am in a way. The Doctor is like a drug, and once you realize what he's like you can't stop. It's like that for everybody, and why every time somebody leaves it's like a huge crash down from their high. Everybody has their fall.

And this, at the moment, is mine.

I hug myself and keep my head low, trying to suppress my crying. I'm on a busy street in the middle of a city, for god's sake. With people—or humans, hopefully—concerned with their own lives. And a crying girl sitting up against the dumpster is going to raise some eyebrows.

This is my fault. This whole fucking mess is my fault and now I'm getting punished for it.

Serves me right, I guess. I came here, travelled with the Doctor even though I _knew_ I was a threat to him. I ignored the TARDIS, I wasn't careful enough…and I had to throw myself off of a building. Figures.

But it's okay, right? I'll get back, somehow. And maybe this is just all a bad dream, and a couple minutes from now I'll wake up where I was this morning, sleeping in one of the vacant rooms with poofy hair and a plan to get outside.

Wow, that seems like ages ago. Funny to think that in my timeline it's only been less than eight hours.

But maybe I'll wake up, somewhere. In a hospital bed, being told I didn't die. In the TARDIS, just having bad premonitions. On a planet, in the middle of the space, on a ship. Anywhere but where I am right now. And definitely not the bed in my house, back in Oregon.

I think that would be worse.

I swallow some of my tears and wipe my eyes. I hold it in for a second before the emotions flood over me. Sadness, panic, overwhelming, terror, anger. And all of those feelings make me want to puke on the street and curl up in a ball to hide myself away.

I end up with my head on top of my knees and my fingers laced in my hair, trying not scream. Because I really, really do at the moment. That's what children do when they're abandoned or upset. They scream.

And I'm just a kid.

' "You alright?" a voice asks me. Looks like I couldn't be ignored any longer.

"I'm fine," I say, trying to keep steady but failing.

"You don't sound fine," they comment. The voice is feminine. I don't look up to see them.

"I am fine," I argue. "Now go away and leave me here to rot."

"Now that's not the attitude of someone who's fine," they press on, sounding concerned.

"Go away," I repeat. "I—I can handle this…somehow."

"Oh, come on now," the woman's voice coos. She's British. Of course. "Something's wrong, I could tell from across the street. Now tell me."

I hiccup and smirk a little in the confines of my hidden face. "You wouldn't understand. It's not a normal problem."

"I'm pretty sure I could help you," she offers.

I'm still trying to hide my face away so that she doesn't see that I'm crying. "Are you a therapist?"

"No, I'm actually a journalist."

"Then what help are you to me?" I grind out.

"Well, maybe I'm not the best of help," the woman considers. "But my friend, they could help you."

"Oh, could he?" I ask, looking up. Her image is blurred, but I see a flowy blouse and a crop of short brown hair.

"Yeah, he's the definition of abnormal. He'd understand."

I smile. "I know—knew a guy like that, once." I wipe my eyes. "What's your name again?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you," she says. I look up at her, getting a good look at her. "Sarah Jane Smith."

She looks like her, exactly. Pants, shirt, hair, everything. My eyes go wide and I scramble up against the side of the dumpster until I'm standing up.

Sarah frowns. "Is something wrong?"

"I've—I've," I stutter. "I've got to, uh—got to go."

I book it for all I've got, even as she yells for me. I keep running and don't stop until I can feel my lungs begin to give out. And by then I've run past six different street signs in one straight line.

Saving people and running for the sake all things good is great exercise, it seems.

I look back and can't see either of them. Damn it, I really should've watched more of the classic series. Or memorize all the faces of all the people on the show.

The surprise has shocked me out of crying, for now. But I'm on a busy city street in…somewhere, and it's…

What year is it, anyway?

And where am I?

I could just ask somebody, but they'd think was either an amnesiac or a drunk. And I am neither of those, as I last recall. And technology is a no go, seeing as for all I know I'm in 1921 and somewhere off in a different galaxy, with variations of everything and everyone.

I wander along the street, searching for clues. Nobody has cell phones, so it's before the twenty-first century. Everybody looks human. There are cars and televisions and things like that, but it's all too ambiguous for me to know. I walk until I see a newspaper stand and head for the nearest magazine I can get my hands on.

February 21st, 1981.

Huh.

And with that my momentary purpose is gone. My distraction, to leave me thinking otherwise, is gone. The running, the questions—all of them fade into thin air and I'm left with my despair again, slowly churning inside me and making my gut ache.

Is that why you keep running all the time? You know, _you_. To keep that feeling away? Because if you do it's perfectly logical, I understand that now. Being alone isn't fun.

I guess that after the pursuit of a trench coat-wearing girl, _you_—an earlier version of you—and Sarah decided to head off, seeing as the world around begins to flicker out of sight and get replaced by a bright light, like before.

I disappear on a vague Earth city in 1981, much to the stunned view of the newspaper stand customers and owner.

**#**

The city is mostly purple and contains a species that looks like a hedgehog and a duck mated with a platypus watching. And they're all looking at me, staring at me. I stick out like a sore thumb, probably looking something like a jaguar in a petting zoo.

A smaller version of the creatures, a kid, points to me with a grubby webbed finger. "What's that thing?"

The other one next to the kid, a bigger one that's most likely it's guardian of some sort, looks at me and then takes its hand. "It's probably somebody in a costume for the dome advertisement, sweetheart. Let's keep moving."

They walk away, and I quickly retreat somewhere that I can't be seen. I don't belong here, I'm not recognized here. I'm pretty sure that if I stay out in public a little while longer I'll be taken in for examination.

I head for the darkest, dankest area I can find and continue forwards. It looks to be a series of tunnels, inclining slightly upwards and getting darker each time. It doesn't make sense; shouldn't the tunnels be getting _lighter_ as they get higher?

Different planet, I guess. Different physics.

It keeps getting colder the longer I continue walking. I wrap the coat tighter around the lower half of my body, which has goose bumps thanks to the dress, and retie the strap that's strung around my waist. There's boxes everywhere, and trash covering the ground. Once I think it's safe I sit down.

The Doctor's out here, somewhere, probably having fun and laughing with somebody, having the time of his life and not knowing that I'm here, unable to see me.

The bastard.

I huddle up against the curved walls of the tunnels and pound my first on the metal.

It hurts, and it hurts a lot. The soft, fleshy side of my hand will probably be bruised at some point in the next following days.

If I dream long enough, that is.

I've had dreams like this before, where I'm always running from something for some reason. I usually can't remember what it is, but I'm always running. And this time, maybe I'm just running from him. The conscience is a funny thing sometimes.

And really, denial is the only thing I have to comfort me right now.

There's whispering from down the tunnel, shocking me out of my train of thought and compelling me to scramble behind the boxes as shadows curve on the wall, stretching out until they fade.

"Aye, Ligur," one of the creatures says. It's got an accent that I can't place. "Ain't that the road to the upper world?"

"Yep," says the other one, Ligur. Its voice is more feminine than the other one, but then again with alien's anatomy and genders it all really weird. "No one's gone up there in two hundred years, though."

"Says who?"

"Says Difgin. Difgin says that there's creatures up there that don't know the light from the core, that they from when there was light in the sky. That's why when we go out here for cleanup we've gotta have the netguns, remember? To catch the grubby little hatchlings before they catch us. Now come on, Hasfoz, we've got a duty to the city."

"Load of hoofbeast excrement, if you ask me," the more masculine-sounding one, Hasfoz, mutters.

I peek out from behind the boxes to see two of the creatures in bright orange ponchos and plastic bags. Trash clean up. Huh.

"No decent Murin would be doing this," Hasfoz points out.

"Well, we ain't decent Murins, remember," Ligur reminds the grumbling one. "I mean, you've got seven demerits and I've got nine. A couple more escapades around the neighborhood and we could get fueled."

Fueled?

Hasfoz pauses their work and looks at Ligur. "They don't really throw delinquents into the core, do they? I thought it was self-sustaining."

"Every planet's got to start dyin' sometime," Ligur points out. "People forgotten, all that wise wisdom lost and the like. And my friend, Izmer, works at the Law Center. Seen it happen. And every mature citizen knows this in some way or another."

"I'm 23 shifts," Hasfoz shrugs. "Not that old, I just got my flat arrangement a couple days ago."

"Only 23?" Ligur asks. She whistles. "Man, I'm surprised with all them adverts going up telling people to not break the law that a kid your age's ended up here."

I lean in closer, and slip on a silvery bit of silicone reminiscent of a chip bag, sending me knocking a couple boxes over. Hasfoz and Ligur turn their heads in my direction.

"What was tha'?" Hasfoz asks.

"Dunno," Ligur says. There's a light flicked on, mostly from a torch. "Let's go check it out."

"But—but what if it's the _creatures_? You know, coming down to feast on our insides and burn buildings to the ground."

"That's why we've got the nets," Ligur reminds their companion. "And the talkies, so we can send 'em back to the Law Center to get investigated and split open."

That does not sound pleasant at all.

I make a break for it, hoisting myself up and heading for the "upper world" at the fastest speed I can muster at the moment. Which, due to the kind of day I've had, isn't a very fast speed to begin with, and involves a very sore leg that's making me limp. Stupid phantom pains, stupid leg that was-apparently-broken-but-now-wasn't. Stupid split timelines. Stupid Universe.

"It's one of 'em!" Ligur yells. I begin to run faster. "Hassie, get your gun out!"

I pick up the pace.

"It's heading towards the upper world!" Hasfoz yells.

"Well it won't be going too far!" Ligur yells back.

I only make it a couple more feet before I feel something push me forward to the ground. My face slams onto the concrete and I try to get up, only to find myself firmly pressed to the ground. I writhe around a little more, trying to get up but not escaping.

"We got 'em!" Ligur yells. "Call the officials! Tell 'em we done got a SkySeer."

There's a buzzing sound. "Aye, Sepoc? Yeah, we've got something for you…No, no it ain't anything like that! We've got someone from the upper world…No, I ain't pulling your quills, you've got to come up here…You'll be here in fifteen? Try to get here quicker, alright? We don't know if this thing is lethal or nothing." The buzzing noise sounds again.

"Fifteen, Sepoc said?" Ligur asks. I took up at them, and they point their flashlight at me. "Aye, this is an ugly thing. Look at 'em! Only got quills on their heads, they're just all skins. And they've got their noses and things are squished up against 'em."

"You aren't model material yourself," I bite back. Ligur blinks at me.

"Hassie!" they call out.

"Pokey said fifteen minutes!" Hasfoz calls back.

"Hassie, the thing can speak!"

"Yeah, I can," I say. I get up on my elbows. "Now let me out!" I try ripping at the threads of the net, trying to break free.

"Hassie, the thing's tryin' to get out!"

"Sedate it!"

My eyes widen and Ligur scrambles with the net gun, looking on the side of the thing and pressing a button. There's a flash of blue light—now the white I've just been recently acquainted to—and everything goes black.

**#**

There's a bunch of them above me.

"—found in the tunnels, yes."

"Really? I thought the fences warded them off."

"Obviously they've grown smarter."

I blink a couple times and groan. "Oi, my head," I whine. "Fucking hedgehog-platypuses."

All of their faces turn towards me

"It's awake," one of them points out. It wears an orange suit with a grated guard in front of its face. "Didn't we give it the proper amount of sedative?"

"There have been theories that the amount depends on weight for them, rather than the usual factors," another one contributes.

"You bet your prickly ass it's about weight, dumbo," I grind out. "And I'm not an 'it', I'm a 'she'."

"The dit was right," the first exhales. "This one does speak."

"A 'she'?" they ask. "We aren't familiar with that terminology."

I roll my eyes. "The one who carries the offspring," I explain. "I'm that."

"Ah, you're a resa," the observer tells me. "Like us."

The observer, by the way, has a voice deeper than the Mariana Trench.

Aliens, man. Aliens are weird…no offense.

I gulp. "Yeah, I'm that."

"You're clothed in plant fibers," another points out.

"Well I wouldn't go around strutting in the nude, would I?" I ask. I tug at my restraints. "Listen, if you want to get a good interview, you could just let me go."

"You SkySeers are lethal, we all know that," the second scientist snaps. "You may be far more advanced, but you are no different than the others."

I fall back onto the slab. "I feel like I'm in _The Planet of the Apes_," I whisper.

"We must perform an autopsy," the observer persists. "After all, this one looks like the others! Walks like the others, but doesn't act like them. The resa is far more advanced than the others. Is the resa possibly advanced on the inside? The skull tissue must be fascinating."

"Hey, I'm not a piece of meat!" I yell. I thump my hands against the table. "Let me out!"

The first scientist glares at me. "Don't trust it. Since it's clever, it might as well be manipulative."

Red alarms start blaring around the room and a voice comes from the speakers in the ceiling.

"Evacuate, there has been a breach," the voice says. "The EndoLight has been released. The fences are down. Every Murin for themselves!"

A bright white light pulses through the room. Well, at least it's convenient…

Another pulse, the scientists look at me and I smirk.

"Sayonara, ladies," I say, and I'm gone.

**#**

The next couple of trips are brief, maybe two or three minutes long. I jump between the middle of space, just close enough to the air shield to survive before beginning to choke on nothing, to a greasy factory, and then to a place so dark I couldn't even tell that I was getting misplaced again.

This time, I'm in a house, covered in grime from the factory and hungry from jumping around five or six places in under six hours.

Distract myself. I have to distract myself.

Where exactly am I?

There's pictures of a family, all smiles and adorable children in sweaters. And they're human. I'm on Earth. I'm the kitchen, and there's a newspaper on the counter. Chicago Times. I'm in Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A, located on Earth. Thank god. Now…

When am I at?

I grab the newspaper and search for the date.

"October 7th, 2001," I read aloud. "Good. At least I can partially remember this year."

There are no voices, no creaks or squeaks. The house is empty, except for me. Family's probably out somewhere, doing something families do. But it's so quiet inside. Outside I can hear cars and people.

Still, the silence is so permeable I almost jump at the sound of my own stomach growling.

I am so goddamn hungry.

You'd be condoning my actions. Whoever's listening to this, you would. Stealing is wrong, and these guys look like nice folks from what I can tell. But it's not like I broke in or anything…I just kind of ended up here. And if someone like me came up to the door they'd probably give me food and clothing…if I convinced them. The point is, right now I don't have the TARDIS's kitchen and closets anymore, and I could be zapping out sometime soon. I've got to take the opportunities when I see them.

I open the fridge and take what I can find. Yoghurt, bags of turkey, leftover pasta in a Tupperware container. I gather it up in my arms and decide to go scout the rooms for anything else. After all, if I'm going to rob some food might as well take whatever else I can find that I'll need.

On the dining room table, glistening underneath the city light, in an exacto-knife. It's almost singing to me.

I hesitate, but quickly snatch the object and stash in my pocket before moving on.

The family's kids are all boys, but the mom is a good enough size that I'll definitely fit into any of her clothes, while it being just a bit big on me.

I end up in an oversized t-shirt with "Chicago Bears" across the front and baggy mom jeans that I have to use a belt for. I ditch the dress, leaving it on the floor of the bedroom, but put the coat back on me. You know, for the cold.

I scoop the contents into my arms and open the front door, revealing a dark street damp with rain. I walk as casually as I can from the house. If it's anything I've learned from the Doctor, it's that if you're taking something you've got to act like you own it.

I slip into a bus stop area to eat, alone. I shake the contents of the yoghurt container out of place and eat them like push pops until they're all empty. I'm still hungry, though, and in an almost animal-like fashion I scarf down the turkey and pasta until I'm left with a bunch of food surrounding me. And bugs. A lot of bugs.

In a matter of twenty-four hours, I've gone from running around New York with not a care in the universe to struggling to feed myself. I'm a thief here, an experiment somewhere else. And dead, back in New York.

And now, in the dark and loneliness of the situation, I'm no longer distracted. Nothing is moving, there's no screaming or shouting or monsters. It's just all…still.

And I think about where I'm at. Alone. No Doctor, no TARDIS. No universe at my feet. No friends. I haven't had them for a long time, my old friends. Or my old family. I kind of…replaced them, with the Doctor. Not completely, but more that he just kind of conveniently fit the mold in an involuntary way. And when I realized that it was too late.

But they're gone, all of them. I can't get back to them, not anymore. I am a friendless orphan living off of scraps and—

I can't take it anymore and take the exacto-knife out of my pocket, holding the handle in one hand pushing my other knee up using my knee.

There's four of them. They hurt, but I've been getting ripped out of time itself repeatedly and I just don't care. I close my eyes. I don't want to see how deep I go or how much blood there is or anything. I just want some sort of temporary relief.

If I pressed a little harder, changed direction, I could—

No, I promised to keep myself alive, to find him.

I'm really beginning to hate promises.

It's all _his_ fault. Sure, he saved my life, but it would've been simpler to leave it be. He'd find someone else. I would be content with where I was, and not staining the cuffs of my coat sleeve and biting my lip because it's finally beginning to sting.

If _he_ hadn't been so selfish, everything would be alright. Time would move on. I'd be a memory, something that happened but didn't continue. There would be no paranoia to fuck up the timeline and keep the universe intact. None of that. Everything would run its course and things would be okay. Things would be left to their own devices.

"You bastard," I croak out. "Why couldn't you just keep me dead?"

**#**

**Ahhhh, sorry for the late upd8. I had trouble getting into the swing of things. Updates might be a little more spaced out from now on, due to school and sleep and other things. However, I plan to finish this story in one way or another.**

**This will be in more than three parts, for sure. I'm not certain how many, exactly.**

**Anyway, see you next week!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	32. Solam Entis, Part 2

**Hello!**

**To user XxCupcakeAssassinxX, I would like to answer your question. So, the thing with misplacement is that it ties one object down to one place, so that it can send the object to that exact place in a different timeline. If that doesn't happen, it will wait until another opportunity to suck the object back into the vortex and spit it out in another timeline, still around that same place. Jenna's problem is that the TARDIS shields are up, and she was misplaced from the console room. Whenever the TARDIS dematerializes, it acts as a catalyst to send Jenna to get misplaced again. If Jenna walks into the TARDIS and enters the console room, her misplacement will be finished. She must wait, however, for the correct Doctor, or else she is stuck in the wrong spot of the Doctor's timeline. So, she must wait.**

**Does that make sense? I hope it does.**

**Anyways, on with the story!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

Time is a funny thing. Especially when you're jumping around it like a bouncy ball on hardwood. Days can sometimes just be days, one long consecutive period of 24 hours. Other times they're more like weeks, experiencing seven or more different locations in less time than it takes to grill a steak. And keeping track of it is more difficult, trying to count how long I've been somewhere and adding it to the previous number.

Approximately three weeks since what I call "The Moment Things Went To Shit" I am in downtown London somewhere in the late twentieth century for what I think might be the tenth time. At least it's one constant in this thing. One city I can depend on, surely.

Except for now, of course.

Daleks. Lots and lots of Daleks.

In my whole journey with the Doctor I never once encountered one. They just didn't appear, for some reason. Not too important to me, and frankly I didn't think there was much to them anyway. They were studded pepper pots that had a whisk and plunger for arms. Sure, they were the biggest villain in the whole series, but I just didn't see the threat. Until now.

"Exterminate!"

Dark alleyways, ones I vaguely recognize. This is the street, the one near the sandwich shop. Or will be near the sandwich shop. It said ever since 2014, didn't it? Yeah, that's later. Much later.

"Exterminate!"

Everybody's either dead, on the spaceships, or in hiding. And there are few holding my case and running for their lives. London's a rainy, apocalyptic mess. Trash cans littered everywhere, street lights bent sideways, and figures flying in the air in procession lines, all shouting the same mantra:

"Exterminate!"

I've got to find a way to get somewhere safe, somewhere that they can't find me. That or kill them. But I'm facing away from the eyestalk and don't have a gun on me.

I make a quick turn at the next corner I see. Oh, please don't be a dead end, please don't be a dead end…

Shit.

"Exterminate!"

I back up against the wall as the thing slowly edges towards me.

"Stay back!" I yell. "I've—I've uh, I got a weapon!" I scramble through my pockets and to try to find something.

"Your fighting is in vain," they droll out in a monotone. They edge closer to me.

Daleks are extremely frightening pepper pots if you ask me.

"Stay back!" I yell. "Get the fuck away from me!"

"Your fighting is in vain," it repeats.

A bright flash of white light. Oh, thank God.

I visibly relax as the pulses of light begin to quicken.

"Actually, it isn't."

The Dalek moves it's head side to side, surveying the spectacle. "What is this?"

"Nothing special."

**#**

Wow, okay.

Ending up in the same place twice in a row. That hasn't happened before.

Still London, still 2008. It's The Stolen Earth, isn't it? Or maybe Journey's End, I can't tell. I don't hear the Daleks shouting or people screaming. Actually, it's light outside. And cold—very cold.

I unpin myself from the brick wall and walk out into the street. It is an exact replica of the desolated block I had been running down before, except for the fact that some shops are replaced with others and there was a mail box that hasn't existed yet as of now. I walk a little further up the road until I find somebody that doesn't look either intimidating or intimidated.

"Hello, sir?" I ask, waving my hand.

He looks at me, frowning. "Yeah?"

"I was wondering what the date is today," I tell him.

His expression lightens. "Oh, it's the twelfth of December."

I tug on the lapels of my over coat, making the fabric hug closer to me. "That would explain why it's so bloody cold outside," I say, gritting my teeth. I look back up to the guy. "And what year is it?"

He frowns again. "Pardon?"

"The year, dude," I repeat. "What's the year?"

His face goes from confused to concerned. "Are you alright?"

"I'm…fine," I spit out. "Just having a small lapse of memory."

"It's 2006," he answers slowly. "Do you need any help getting somewhere? I could call a cab."

"No, I'm good on my own," I say. I smile. "Thank you, though. But I just need to go a bit further down the way, it's fine."

"Okay," he says. "Well…ta, young lady."

I wave quickly before clutching my cold skin again and walking further up the street. People glance at me, and that's expected. My clothes are frm a week ago, roughly, when I was able to walk into a Wal-Mart and change before waiting ten minutes in the changing room to disappear. And my hair is a completely different story. Cities, in my opinion, need a lot more public pools.

Homeless shelters a blessing, providing the grand trinity of my needs in one place. Unfortunately, I can't find one close by.

Shoplifting has become a norm for me, honestly. Dining and dashing, too. The first couple of times I was honestly too nervous and got caught, only to get misplaced somewhere else around fifteen minutes later from the back seat of the police car. The trick is to act quickly and confidently.

But these clothes haven't begun to smell like complete garbage yet and I'm honestly not very hungry. I do need to pee, though.

There is an absence of lavatories on this street it seems, mostly because they're full of printing shops and apartment complexes. I just need a nice public bathroom. It doesn't even have to be clean for me anymore, I just someplace better than a tree or the ground.

And quick as well, because I had to before and being chased by a death machine alien has a tendency to make things like this accelerate.

That is how I end up in front of the H.C. Clemens firm.

The doors are open and it' a big business, which means that it has to have a restroom. Somewhere.

I walk inside, surveying my surroundings and getting strange sense of déjà vu. Had I been here before? Nah, I couldn't have. I've only been in this area four times…wherever this area is…and this has never passed me in all those times.

Still, the place looks strikingly familiar.

I wander down the stretch of corridors searching for an indicating sign, but all I find are cubicles and elevators. I head down yet another hallway with crimson carpets and beige walls. I'm too busy searching for a sign that I don't notice a figure walking towards me.

I bump into them, knocking them and myself off course.

"Oi, watch it!" we both yell.

Oh. That's why H.C. Clemens sounded so familiar.

"You need to pay _attention_, blimey," Donna Noble says, brushing off her skirt.

"S-Sorry," I stutter.

"What are you lot doing in here, anyway?" she asks. "This is an _office_ building, not some hobo house!"

"I was just going to find the loo," I stammer out, trying to turn on my accent but failing.

"Why don't you go find another toilet!" she suggests. She puts her hands on her hips. "I could have you arrested, you know. People like you aren't supposed to be in here, this is a _private firm_." She looks me over. "How'd you get in here, anyway?"

"The door was open," I answer. "And I couldn't find anywhere else so I just walked in."

She frowns deeper. "Well I'm sorry missy, but this isn't a place where you can just walk in who knows where and expect nobody to notice."

I sigh. "Listen, I've had a rough day…a rough week, actually, and I just need to take a piss. Can you let me do that?"

She continues to frown at me, but her face eventually softens until he takes her hands off of her hips and sighs loudly.

"_Fine_. Go on, then!"

I smile. "Thanks, D—lady."

I start walking down the hallway, only to see Donna trailing a couple feet behind me. I walk a little farther until I realize she's still tailing me, and then proceed to turn around.

"Are you following me?" I ask.

"Yes," she says. "Yes, I am."

I hesitate for a moment before responding, shifting from leaning on my right side to my left. "I'm going to the _bathroom_," I remind her. "And then I'm leaving this place—as quick as possible, mind you. I don't want to be here."

"Well it's you homeless people; I don't want you going in there to steal…soap or something! No, I'm staying out here and waiting for you until you come back." She points at herself. "And this lady's name is Donna Noble, thank you very much."

I stare at her for one more second before shaking my head. "Fine! Fine. Whatever, I just need to pee."

I go inside the restroom and do my business, exiting to still see Donna tapping her foot impatiently just outside the door.

I frown. "You seem on-edge."

"I've got my wedding in less than two weeks, sue me."

I frown. "Wedding?" I glance at the ring on her finger and think a little bit. "Oh, yeah. 2006, I had almost forgotten."

"'Scuse me?" she asks.

I shake my head. "Nothing. Um…thanks for showing me to the bathroom. I guess I' just…go."

"Oh no, I'll escort you out," Donna insists. "It'll look more official if I'm next you. It's an employee thing."

I laugh. "You're a temp."

She stops her actions. "How'd you know that?"

I stutter, realizing my slip-up. "Uh…"

"What, do I have that _tempish_ look going on?" Her eyes go wide. "Is it the skirt? Oh my god, it's the skirt, I _knew_ the hemming was visible but my mum just—"

"Donna," I interrupt. "It's alright. It was just a guess. A very, very good guess. Now let's go before people see me. A homeless chick in a firm would probably worry some of the executives, now that I think about it."

"Yeah, thanks for noticing," she says sarcastically. "Now come on, quickly."

We head down the stairs and out to the exit.

I turn to Donna just before the wedding.

"You said you were going to get married, right?" I asked.

"Yeah." She smiles a little. "His name is Lance. Great guy."

Oh honey, if only you knew. I smile. "Well," I say, looking down. "I'm sure that it'll be a wedding you'll never forget."

"I bloody hope so!" she says, laughing a little. "I've put hours of my time into it. If one single person forgets any of it I am going to scream."

I laugh. "I would expect you to," I say. "And um…I've got another good guess on my mind."

"Oh? And what is it?"

I look at her, straight in the eye. "You are going to be spectacular."

Her expression falters a little bit, her smile twitching. "I know I am. Do you know how thin I look in my wedding dress? Honestly, it makes me seem ten pounds lighter!"

"I bet it does," I say. I push on the door. "Thanks, Donna."

She smiles smugly. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't come back around her for a trip to the loo, you got that, uh…oh, I didn't catch your name."

"It's Jenna," I tell her. "And trust me, I won't. I rarely land in the same place twice."

I'm five steps from the building when the first flash goes off. I bolt it until there's nothing left in front of me.

**#**

It happens in Rome, of all places. It's roughly 102 A.D. A lot is going right now, I mean the Roman Empire is thriving, Christians are getting persecuted, and the emperor is currently missing.

I mean to just keep in the shadows and try to blend in, which is hard when you're in stolen clothes from Goodwill and a trench coat who's sleeves surpass your hands. The city is moving and bustling and, fortunately, I think most have just mistaken me for either a leper or a prostitute.

It's been nearly a month since TMTWTS. I've stolen more things than I can count and have lost more pounds than necessary. My right arm in still scarring from Chicago and have two more lines that are a bit fresher.

The guy's name is Atticus, and he's the one who buys me a loaf of bread after I spend my time sitting on the corner of the street for so long. Sometimes I give up moving around places, mostly because I know it'll either end up with me being in trouble or me running into somebody I shouldn't be running into. Sometimes it's best to stay put.

However, he comes walking along sometime midday and I sort of acknowledge him, mostly just away in my thoughts. I've come to accept the fact that no, this is not a dream. This is very much real, and I am very much alone.

After a couple days of frantically searching I decided not to care anymore. If the Doctor is going to find me, he's going to find me at my worst state. The bastard deserves it.

I haven't eaten in a couple days, and I think it's beginning to show. The hunger has faded but the headaches haven't, and I'm trying my best not to claw at something just to relieve the pain. I can't steal anything, the market is too crowded. And I honestly don't have enough motivation to try to be sneaky.

He passes by me again, and I recognize him from before. But I'm too busy trying to spite the Doctor to really consider him anything but a stranger walking about town.

It's when he passes by me a third time that I truly notice.

He disappears in the crowd, and I take it as a fluke of coincidence. After all, I just have to wait until I'm transported somewhere else. Right now I can just think.

My anger hasn't been 100% directed towards the Doctor. He's only got about 45% of my fury. Another 25% is directed towards the Visichek, for obvious reasons. The last 30% is towards the Silence.

After all, they're the ones who set me up for this, didn't they? Told me about my destiny, the Cage. I haven't even gotten to the Cage, don't know what it is. Nicholas Cage? A small trap to keep me in forever? A metaphor? A machine?

The thing is, I don't know. And I intend to find out.

The fourth time he passes by he walks right up to me.

I look up at him. "Hello?" I ask.

"Yes, sorry," he apologizes nervously. "I-I just saw you um…well, you on this street for quite a while and my companion Coriolus said you might be low on business and so…" He sighs and picks up the pace of his words. "So-he-told-me-to-come-over-here-and-pay-you-for-some-services-here-you-go."

He drops a couple coins in my lap, eyes screwed shut. I look at the money and raise my eyebrows.

"I'm not actually a prostitute, you know," I tell him. "I have more respect than that."

He opens up his eyes and takes a couple steps back. "Oh, uh. Oh, I am so sorry miss I didn't—um, I think I'll just be leaving now."

He starts to run off but I grab the hem of his toga, tugging him back.

"Hold up a minute," I say.

He looks back at me. "Look, I'm sorry if I offended you in any way but my friend there—"

"No, I heard about your friend," I say. "And I've got some advice: ditch him."

"Why?"

"Because sending a guy like you over here while you're scared out of your wits is not a friendly thing to do," I explain. "Frankly, it's what an asshole would do."

He laughs weakly. "Oh, he had good intentions. Just pushing me towards you, that's all."

"Pushing you towards me?" I ask. "Why?"

He goes crimson. "I may have...remarked that you were, uh, pleasing to look at."

I blink. "Oh," I say. I frown, looking down at myself. "Really? I haven't cleaned up in three days. Or think it's been three days."

"I think you look quite nice, actually," he comments.

I smile. "Well…wow, thank you."

"Your hair is most exotic. I don't think I've seen the color red on a person's head before."

I laugh. "Yeah, I guess you lot haven't, have you?"

He glances back into the crowd. "So uh…do you just live on the streets?"

I shrug. "Now I do," I tell him. I smile a little. "I used to live in a magnificent palace, one that was so big it almost never ended. I could go anywhere I wanted when I was there."

"What happened?" he asks.

"I…fell from grace, so to speak," I say, laughing. "I got—let's just say that I was banished. I can't return for a while."

"What'd you do?" he asks, frowning.

"Nothing you need to know."

"Oh." He pauses, staring ahead and rocking on his feet a little bit before looking down at me again. "You could…stay with me."

I frown. "Excuse me?"

"I'm staying in a home right now," he explains. "Studying to be lawyer and all. Just a rental place, but it's nice."

"A lawyer?" I ask. "You're…what, sixteen?"

"A perfectly liable age," he says. "What's stranger is a girl like you out on the streets."

I stand up. "Oh, am I? And why is it that I'm strange?"

"Well, you should be getting married soon," Atticus points out. "Having children."

"Oh, please. I'm not doing any of that for a while."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't feel like it."

He blinks. "You are unlike a lot of the women I've come to know."

"I'm not a woman, I'm a girl," I correct him. "And thank you."

He smiles. "Uh…so. Do you still want to camp out over there? You know, with me?"

I smirk. "Sure, why not. I need some sleep anyway." I take the coins off of the ground and slap them back into his hand. "And just another bit of advice…bread sounds really good right now. I think you should buy it."

He laughs. "Yeah, that seems like a good idea."

**#**

He's nice. He's really, really nice.

For about five hours, I'm able to forget my situation and jut share anecdotes with this guy. Edited anecdotes, of course, but anecdotes nonetheless. There's bread and cheese and wine that I try to drink but only manage down a glass. Atticus's buddies all look at me and them wink at him, and it ends up in him getting flustered and glancing at me nervously.

I'm sitting on a stool with my back to the wall while he's sitting on his bed, which is pretty much a ratty mattress.

"I wonder what it is about my outfit that makes people think I'm working corners," I muse aloud.

"It's colorful," Atticus points out. "Bright and brilliant."

I smile. "It's not much, honestly." I tug at my shirt, which is a light green thing I got off of a rack in some mall about 2000 years in the future.

"And you're…bottom covering," he fumbles.

"Trousers," I correct him. "Or pants, they go either way. It's one little tube for each leg, very comfortable."

"Most of the prostitutes I've seen wear flourishing makeup and the oddest style of clothing, things that the Anglo-Saxons would wear," he snorts.

I shrug. "Well, I am part Anglo-Saxon," I admit.

He leans forward. "You are?"

I nod. "On my…father's side, I think. I've also got some Norwegian from him, too. And on my mother's part I've got some Italian, from way back when with the great-grandma. And other bits and pieces, too."

"You're accent is so odd," he says.

I laugh. "Way to change the subject. And yours is weird to me, too."

"No, but the way you form words…I've never heard it before."

Oh no. He must think I have a speech impediment or something. I stutter.

"Y-yeah. I guess it's weird."

"No, not weird," he argues. "I think it's wonderful."

Okay, this is found to sound fantastically cheesy but really.

This guy might be the one.

Sure, he's two millennia older than me. But the one.

I stand up from my stool, smiling. "You know, you're a good guy. I like you."

"Well, um…that's nice to hear, thanks." He gulps. "Don't get that too often, to be perfectly honest."

I frown. "Why not?"

He rolls his eyes. "All the girls are into…gladiator-type men and the men who want to fight and be models for the sculptures of the gods and…here I am." He drops onto the mattress, lying down with his knees hanging off of the side.

I snort. "Well, where I'm from that wouldn't be the case."

He flashes a small smile. "You're from an odd place, so should I take that as an insult or a compliment?"

I laugh and sit down next to him. "Um…compliment. Definitely compliment."

He stares up at the wall and makes a face. "You know, we have been talking for…three hours? And you have yet to tell me your name."

I blush. "Oh my god. I have, haven't I?" I clear my throat. "It's Jenna."

"Jenna," he repeats, overemphasizing the way his mouth moves to the word. "Jenna. Jenna."

"It means 'pure' or 'white', I think," I add. "Maybe heavenly. That's all I know."

"It fits you," he tells me. "I mean, look at mine. _Atticus_. It means 'from Athens'."

I frown. "And?"

"I was born in Antioch."

We burst out laughing, resulting in me falling flat onto my back right next to him.

He turns his face towards me. "You know, I don't get why you of all people would be banished. Maybe for your brashness, but that isn't even a crime."

"Oh, there's some things you don't know about me," I drawl out. I turn to face him as well. "I'm actually one of the most dangerous things in the universe. Just my existence is already testing the boundaries."

He grins. "Oh, you speak of fantastical things."

I smile. And then I do a very stupid thing.

I kiss him.

And I kiss him a lot.

I won't go into the details for the sake of both of our dignities. But it was nice. It was really, really nice and even though I say it was stupid…it wasn't. And I don't regret it for one minute. I will tell you, however, that it stopped. And nothing happened. Or, at least, nothing worth a rite of passage or something.

My last kiss was, what, four months ago? And right now there's a midly attractive guy who is funny and honestly very nice. Now tell me what you would do in my shoes.

Yeah, I thought so.

I pull away from Atticus. And stare at him for a couple of seconds.

"That was dumb," I state.

He gives me a lopsided grin. "I beg to differ. That was brilliant."

I shrug. "Yeah, I guess it was. But it was also dumb."

"How was it dumb?"

"Because I did and I do really dumbass things a lot of the time." I stand up, getting off of the cot and adjusting myself. "I'm sorry."

"I do stupid things, too," Atticus points out. "I walked up to you thinking you were a prostitute and invited you over to my flat even though I barely know you."

"That is pretty stupid," I consider, smiling.

"Now come on. You can't have done too many stupid things."

"Oh, I've got a few things. Things I did intentionally, things I did unintentionally, et cetera, et cetera."

He frowns. "You know Celtic?"

"No," I say. "It's just the way I talk."

Atticus yawns. "I think—I think it's time to go to sleep."

I reciprocate the yawn. "Agreed."

For anybody who's interested, cuddling is amazing. I give it my best regards and rate it a ten out of ten stars in any magazine or website.

The last thing I see is the room before I shift a little more and close my eyes.

**#**

When I open my eyes it's because I'm feeling snowflakes on my nose.

A bus stop. I'm at a bus stop in some city. It's midday and people are passing by me, cars whirring ahead so fast I can barely track them with my eyes. There's so much noise and everything smells like shit.

And I'm alone.

The mysteriously broken window just five minutes later is a coincidence if anybody asks.

**#**

The anger fades slowly but surely. I only concentrate on where I'm going next, and promise myself not to interact with anybody that isn't a necessity to communicate with.

My focus is to survive and not fuck up the time stream.

Places come and go and at some point I stop counting the hours. Three months alone passes, then four. I just want to leave and move on as quick as possible. The longer I stay someplace the more of a danger I am to myself and reality.

I'm running again. The Cybermen have taken over London and I really, _really_ don't want to be assimilated.

I'm running as fast as I can, weaving through the ship I'm on and trying not to bump into anybody I might recognize.

This isn't the first time I've been running from certain death, but the rush of adrenaline is still the same. And it still makes me scared out of my wits.

I keep steady, running at a good pace that'll keep me ahead without draining me of my energy completely. I'm still breathing heavily, however, and my legs are beginning to weaken. Maybe I should've eaten more.

There's a flash of white, but I still keep running After two other ones I skid to a stop. Running away from something in one place mostly turns to running _into_ something in another place.

The light begin to flicker at a faster rate, and I'm pulled in. By now, I've gotten so used to the feeling that the pain is nonexistent. It just sort of…happens. After so long it's as normal as going to the bathroom or eating.

Blinding white, a slight tugging sensation, and…

I'm in a tree.

Or rather, I'm hanging off of a tree by my coat.

"What the…" I grumble, wriggling around until finally the branch snaps and I fall onto the ground ten feet below.

I've ended up in stranger places before, but being above the ground is definitely a position I don't like being in.

I brush off pine needles and look up. It's night.

"Where the hell am I?" I ask to nobody.

I've gotten to a habit of talking to myself, sometimes even just thinking up another voice in head to talk to so that I can at least vent without getting close to somebody. Most of the time it vaguely sounds like a friend I once had long ago.

I look around and spot lights somewhere off in the horizon.

"That looks like a city," I whisper, squinting. "Maybe a town, I can't figure out which."

_Well, Quigs, why don't we find out?_

I smile a little. "Don't call me Quigs."

**#**

I find a dirt road ahead and begin to walk it, the town's lights getting brighter with each step.

I frown. "This looks familiar," I muse. "This road. The field."

_That's because it is_, the voice tells me.

It's dark out here, and quiet. Or, at least, was quiet.

"Help!" a voice cries out from far behind. "Help, please!"

The voice is scratchy and almost a scream.

_They've been yelling for quite some time. Go help them._

"No, I can't," I say.

"Help! My friend, he's hurt! I need to get into town, please!"

_Oh, come on. What would I do?_

I sigh and turn around, running towards the voice. A couple minutes later, there are two dark figures trudging on the road, one slumped over the other. The walking figure is still screaming.

"Help! Help—oh, you! You, please don't run!"

It's a girl, and she's got an accent.

"I'm not, I swear," I tell her, adopting the same accent I've been putting on whenever I'm in the British Isles. Or, at least, most of the time. "I heard you yelling. Now, uh…I'm guessing it has to do with your friend."

"Yeah, he's hurt," she tells me. "I need to get into town, into the school."

"Why?" I ask.

"That's what he told me to do, just before he put on—before he passed out. I just need to get him to his room in the school and everything will be fine." She shifts the sleeping figure a little.

"He looks heavy," I comment. "Hear, let me help you."

I hook the guy's other arm around my shoulder and share the weight. It's still too dark to see either of them.

"Thanks," the girl says, her voice still low and hoarse. "I've been yelling for half an hour and you're the first person to notice."

"In all this farmland I don't think anybody would've heard you for miles except for me," I say, laughing a little.

"You from here?" the girl asks.

"Uh, no," I say. "I'm just a traveler, passing by here and there. You?"

"I think I'm his servant," she tells me.

"You think?" I reiterate.

"It's a long story," she waves off. "And very confusing. Even I don't understand half of it."

I laugh. "I know how that feels."

"So, where are you from, then?" the woman asks me.

"Um…" I stall. "The city. I'm pretty far away from home."

"Me too."

We walk in silence for the rest of the way until the town starts to become much more detailed and visible.

"Do you know what this town's called?" I ask.

"Farringham, I think," the girl guesses. "The school's called 'Farringham School for Boys', so it's the best guess I've got."

I frown. "That name…sounds familiar."

_Come on, Quigs, think_.

"It's a pretty well-known school," the girl informs me. "Especially now."

"Now?"

"1914," the girl adds. "World's on the brink of war, and needs places to train soldiers."

1914…Farringham...why does that sound so familiar?

I shrug. "I guess that makes sense, yeah."

It's quiet for a couple more seconds before the girl shifts her friend and hoists him up higher. "Come on, I think we're close. We've got to move quick."

"Why?"

She hesitates. "There's reasons. Now come on, no more distractions. Just keep moving."

I look straight ahead and walk faster, trying to keep up with the girl's speed. This guy is heavy as hell. Tall, too. Really tall.

The town's lights begin to shed onto us but I keep walking ahead, not looking at either of the strangers faces. No time for distractions. Got to move, then find someplace to hang out until the TARDIS, wherever it is, dematerializes again.

The town is small and almost empty at this time of night. The biggest building, by far, is what has to be the school, a brick establishment just down the way.

"I think that's it," I tell the girl, keeping my focus on the dark outline of the building.

"Yeah, looks to be."

We get to the gate, which protects a series of dormitory buildings and a large courtyard from the forest around it.

"Why does this all look so familiar?" I whisper to myself.

_Why does anything look familiar? Because we've seen it before and you have most definitely seen this before, I can guarantee that._

"Oh, thank god, we're finally here," the girl says.

"Don't you need to ring someone up to get past the gate?" I ask.

"Don't worry, got that covered," she dismisses. "Here, let's lay him down for a second, I've got to get into his pockets."

In the light of the school windows I turn to look at the girl and almost drop the dude.

Martha Jones frowns at me. "Why've you got that face?"

I stutter. "Uh…uh, no r-reason whatsoever."

"Really? You look kind of shook up."

"I just…I thought I may have seen you before," I lie. Sort of.

"Really?" she asks, slowly lowering down the guy—who's identity I have a good guess on—to the ground as I mimic her actions. "Well, I have travelled around a lot of places before. Maybe we've crossed paths sometime in the past."

I laugh weakly. "Yeah, that's it."

Martha kneels down and starts going through the front pockets of the Doctor's jacket. "Oh come on, where does he keep it…"

"It's in the inside pocket," I answer immediately.

Martha looks up at me. "What?"

"Whatever you're looking for, it's in the inside pocket," I repeat, thinking up a way to cover my slip-up. "It, um, it seems important, yeah? A respectable gentleman would keep something important close to him. So it's in his inside pocket."

Martha squints and slips her hand underneath the Doctor's jacket, moving her hand around until she obviously finds the sonic.

"Huh," she comments.

I gulp, realizing that this is where the story begins.

"I…have to go now," I tell her, and turn around to start heading off into the woods or something.

There's a high-pitching whining sound and the chiming of metal clanking on metal. They're fine, they're safe, and I'm not—

"Wait! Come back here!"

—in the picture.

I turn around. "Y-Yeah?"

"You don't look too good," Martha points out. "When's the last time you ate?"

I don't remember. "This morning?" I guess.

"You look like you're going to starve to death."

I wave my hand. "I'll be fine, I always am. It's just how my life is with all the…traveling."

"Is it really travelling?" Martha asks. "Or is it something else?"

I bit my lip and walk a couple more steps ahead. "I...okay, I kind of ran away."

"Why?"

"I had no choice. If I didn't…bad things were going to happen. Very bad things."

Martha gives me a look that reminds me of someone watching a sick kitten. "How long have you been away from home?"

"I lost count," I confess in a quiet voice. "Four months…maybe five."

She gapes. "And how the hell have you been surviving?"

I shrug. "I don't know." I honestly don't.

She beckons me towards her and I cautiously step towards her.

"How old are you?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm sixteen," I answer. Three months have gone and went.

"Okay. 1914, you should be old enough to work," she mutters to herself. "And what's your name?"

"Um…" I stammer. "I don't think I should tell you."

"I'm not going to report you, silly," she reassures me with a smile. "Now tell me your name."

Come on, some old-fashioned name…

"Florence," I blurt out. "Florence…Sampson."

"Well, Florence," Martha says, smiling and sticking her hand out. "I'm Martha. And this is the—the John Smith. _The_ John Smith."

I snort. "What, there aren't any other John Smiths?"

"None like him, I can tell you that." She kneels down and slips an arm around her neck. "Now could you help me get him inside?"

I glance over to the school. "I don't know…"

"Just one more thing, alright? I promise to return the favor."

We haul him inside and begin our trek up the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible. We don't succeed.

"What is all this noise going on?" a female voice whispers from down the hall.

Joan Redfern struts out and points her candlelight at us, making us stop mid-step on the stairs. "Who are you? Is that man injured?"

"He should be fine in the morning," Martha tells the matron. "He's your new professor. John Smith?"

"Him?" Joan asks, pointing at the Doctor. "He's John Smith?"

Martha nods. "And I'm his maid, Martha."

"And who's she?"

"I'm Florence," I answer. "And I'll be—"

"—looking for a job," Martha interjects. "And was wondering about having one here. Now, Mr. Smith is getting _very_ heavy and we just need to get him into his dormitory."

Joan nods, wide-eyed. "Yes, of course. Follow me."

We get him settled and are led to our new rooms, which is one huge community room for the servants. We're given our uniforms and told to go to bed.

I'm still a little shell-shocked and don't come to the realization that I've been _hired as a maid_ until I set the dress at the foot of my cot.

"What was that?" I whisper to Martha.

"What was what?" she asks, climbing underneath the thin sheets of her bed.

"_Hiring_ me for this place!" I answer in as loud of a whisper I can manage. "That's what!"

"It's me returning the favor," Martha says. She shrugs. "You get paid, get three square meals a day. Better than forgetting when you last ate."

And with that, she turns to her side and ends the conversation.

I collapse onto my bed and look up at the ceiling.

Alright, this won't be so bad. I'll be here for a couple days at the most and then—

Wait.

The Doctor's stuck here for three months. Which means the TARDIS is stuck here for three months. The TARDIS won't dematerialize for another three months. I'm stuck here. For three months. I'm stuck and the Doctor and Martha will be within a block from me at all times.

"Shit."

**#**

**I'm sorry this took so long, but as you can see this is a long chapter. It took some time.**

**Next chapter will up in a week or so, as per usual. I enjoy the feedback I've been getting, especially from the last chapter.**

**I've been quite busy as of late. I've been reading Homestuck, watched the first 4 seasons of Supernatural, and watched all of Puella Magi Madoka Magica. I recommend you read/watch all of these things, they're wonderful!**

**Reviews are always welcome!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	33. Solam Entis, Part 3

**Ah yes. Hi.**

**SO this took me a while. I had to rewatch "Human Nature" and "Family of Blood" multiple times to get the facts right. I also got the year wrong last chapter, and it is 1913, not 1914.**

**I have also had other things on my mind, such as school and my webcomics AND I started reading this new readthrough of this Japanese video game. Pretty sweet, if you ask me.**

**I appreciate your patience and hope you enjoy this story!**

**#**

Being a maid sucks ass.

Being a woman in 1913 sucks ass.

Being in a school full of rich brats sucks ass. Life sucks ass.

The bed and food are nice, yeah, and I do appreciate knowing that when I fall asleep I won't be halfway across the universe when I wake up. But there is so much _work_, and no breaks at all. We're given a salary that could equate to that of a fast food cashier's hourly wage which, even in 1914, isn't that much. It's a simple routine: wake up, get dressed, eat, work, have dinner, work, then go back to sleep. We have our days off on the weekend, but even then that's from our daily chores. We still have to get up early and wake up the teachers and prepare their beds for the night. The only difference is curfew.

I try to stay away from anything having to do with the Doctor at all costs. I move into a different room than the one Martha's in and always volunteer for kitchen duty, staying behind the scenes and out of everybody's sight. I also get to learn how to cook things, which is something I've previously been immune to learning. It's that and wake up call for the maids and students, since I still wake up every three hours during the night out of pure instinct.

The boys at the school have easily come to terms with the fact that I am around their age and have reacted—well, let's say very _enthusiastically_.

Not that the attention isn't flattering at times, but it is still downright annoying in others.

I've been here two weeks and have almost refrained from speech at all. The other workers look at me with fascination, disgust, or pity. They think I must be a freak or a victim of something, but I'm cautious. Just…cautious.

The voice as grown a head and hands. They're not defined, but they're there. The voice has become sharper, though it is still vague on who it belongs to, if it does. It stays behind me, commenting on things in my life just as th—just as a friend would do. And that's what the voice is: a friend.

And in times like this a friend is all I really want.

**#**

_Silence hovering over me._

_Clicking noises._

"Change the timeline. Destroy the Doctor._"_

_Nonononononono._

_Flashing lights, screaming. I'm screaming. I'm trapped, behind glass. Not trapped, no. I put myself there._

_FallingfallinfallingfallingSLAM._

_End of story. Or it should've been. But it wasn't. Bastard. Selfish prick, I should've just—_

_But no, promises. If he keeps his I keep mine and if in the end I see he hasn't then that is a free pass._

_Fallingfallingfallingfalling—_

_Nothing. I'm floating. Floating in midair, suspended but the lights are so bright and fixating, I can't take my eyes off of it even though it's burning them out, slowly consuming me and I can't run away I should've but I can't. I should've but—_

_Promises. I've got to keep my promises._

_Fallingfallingfallingfa—_

Darkness. Not dream darkness, real darkness. And hot sweaty messiness covering me from head to toe and making me feel like I'm not in my own skin. There's sheets, too. Scratchy sheets that were a pain in the ass at first but have now become so soft and comfortable after working nonstop every day. A pillow, nightclothes given to me by the school.

I sit up. My normal bedroom—or, shared bedroom for that matter. I've got Gerty and Mary still snoozing beside me. I must not have screamed this time. At least that's an improvement.

I rub my eyes with my fingertips and push my covers back, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and sighing. I look up at the wall—white, plain, plaster with small bumps and lines that, if you think hard enough, you can form pictures with. I look straight in front of me—Gerty and Mary are still fast asleep. Mary's snoring, even though she always denies that she commits such an act. There's the window facing all three of us that's closed so that the heat doesn't escape, and the crucifix hanging next to it that Gerty prays to before she goes to sleep. There's the door, that has yet to have light peeking out of the bottom but will as soon as I get to work. Everything is the same, constant. I'm still getting used to it.

I look below me—hardwood floors, my feet flat on top of them, and a small leather handle peeking out from under the bed.

Time to start the day.

I stand up and squat, gripping the handle and pulling it out, exposing the entire suitcase attached to it. I open up the case, checking to see that all my belongings are still there. I check off each item: the overcoat, the old clothes, the exacto-knife, the TARDIS key, and my cell phone. They're all here, nothing taken.

Mary starts to stir a little and I quickly shut the case, sliding it underneath the bed again. She settles down and goes still again.

I sigh in relief and resume my routine. Open wardrobe, don maid attire—which, by the way, is very scratchy and irritating—somehow manage to get my hair into a bun the size of a walnut, get headpiece on, and slip into my boots.

I stare at the rusty mirror in the wardrobe and quietly recite my chosen phrases.

"I am going to park," I repeat three times in a low, almost inaudible voice.

"I went to my garage this morning to grab my bicycle."

"Hello, Mr. West, may I offer you a cup of tea?"

All over and over again, until I think I've got the accent down to a tee. Then it's time to wake up the other two.

I light up one of the oil candles and stand in between their beds.

"Alright, wakey-wakey!" I order. "Time for work, you two."

Mary, a woman somewhere in her early forties, turns over and ducks underneath her sheets. "Five more minutes."

I grab the sheets and tug them down. "No time for that, it's time to work." I turn to Gerty. "And you, too, Gertrude. Come on."

Gerty groans and sits up, looking at me. "Why do we have to take orders from you? I'm ten years older than you!"

"Because I wake up earliest," I reply quickly. "I don't like it either, but it is what it is. Now get up."

I then proceed to the other rooms and follow the same procedure, waking up the maids and other help around the house. I move from one room to the next, doing the congregated masses first and then moving to the special help, the ones brought along that have their own special rooms. And the last of those people is Martha Jones.

I knock on the door and enter cautiously. "Martha, time to get up."

She rolls over and looks at me. "Yeah, yeah, Flo. I got it."

I nod and exit the room.

I go downstairs and eat breakfast, then travel to the boy's dormitories to wake up the boys.

I walk into the room and stomp my feet on the floor. "Alright, boys. Time to get up."

A couple of the boys—the decent ones that know how to keep their mouths shut—groan and turn over, slamming their faces into their mattresses. Others, though, that I have put on a personal list of people who I would like to punch in the gut, have some things to say.

"Oh, shut up and make me breakfast."

"Bloody woman, you can't tell me what to do."

"Sod off."

I draw the curtains and continue to stomp on the floor. "Come on, tests and things today. You can't miss it, you don't want to. Learning is important."

"What do you know about learning, you're a scullery maid!" a boy whose name is fairly high up on the aforementioned list, Neilson, asks me.

I bite my tongue and continue drawing the curtains of the other windows.

"Breakfast's sausage and eggs, as usual," I add. "Weather looks nice, some time outside is recommended." I open the last of the curtains and turn to the boys. "I'll be off, then."

I exit the room before one of them can whistle again.

**#**

The day goes by normally: washing the floors, eating lunch, washing the windows, eating dinner. The only last thing to do is go to the kitchen.

George, the head chef, nods at me when he sees me walking towards him.

"What have you got for me today?" I ask.

"Just chopping up potatoes for tomorrow's lunch," he tells me.

I nod, rolling up my sleeves. "How many do you want?"

He shrugs. "Just chop up a good 30 of them, I guess."

I nod. "Alright. You staying?"

"Nah, heading out to the pub," he tells me. "You should go at some point."

I smile. "I'm sixteen, remember?"

"It's not like it is in the city. They don't really care as long as you pay."

I walk over to the sacks of potatoes and hoist one of them up onto the counter. "Well, I think I'll just stay here, thank you."

It's quiet for a moment before he speaks. "You're not one of the social types, are you?"

I shake my head. "No, sir."

"I thought it would be the same with you women, all chattering about," he comments.

I turn on the sink and grab a potato. "Well, I guess I'm a rare breed."

He laughs. "Yeah, I guess so. Remember to turn off the lights, okay?"

I nod. "Got it."

One potato after another. Chop, chop, chop. Five done, then ten. And after the eleventh one, the voice appears.

_Tedious job, chopping potatoes._

I sigh. "I didn't ask you to be here."

_Well, seeing as I am a part of you, I can't deny that I doubt that._

I keep my eyes on the potatoes. "It's not like I have much control on it."

_Please, Jenna. You have complete control of me. You just choose not to._

I decide to change the subject. "So," I exhale, "what did you want to tell me today? Secrets about my subconscious, repressed memories, obvious information?"

_You're always such a snappy one. No, no I don't, I think. Depends on you. And can you drop the accent?_

"Practice makes perfect," I remind it. "And I'm going to be using it for a couple of months."

_It sounds so unnatural on you._

"To you, yes. But to the people here I sound as British as Boxing Day."

_But it's so…odd._

I smirk. "You're one to talk. And you can't talk, in reality."

_Are you going to bring up the figment of your imagination thing every time? It's incredibly rude, you know._

"You're evidence that I've gone nuts," I argue. "Excuse me for being—" I bring the knife onto the twelfth one with a loud _thwack_. "—a little rude."

_You wouldn't be, as you say, 'going nuts' if you just _talked _to someone for once. Really, truly talked._

"I can't."

_Why not?_

"I'll get attached."

_And why is that so bad?_

"Because I'll leave. And they'll be gone. And whenever that happens it hurts. You of all people should know that."

_You shouldn't stay away from something that could benefit you, even it hurts._

"I'm not under your roof. You—this version of you—are catching up on your studies and/or tutoring some brat." The knife comes down with another _thwack_. "And I want to talk, I really do. But I've got to stay in the background, for reasons."

_Ah, yes. You are apparently going to destroy, aren't you? Something to do with a Cage?_

I stop my work. "How do you know about the Cage?" I ask, panic rising in my chest.

_I don't. Or, rather, the actual, touchable, tangible-y me doesn't. You know, however, so I do as well. Simple as that._

I let out a sigh of relief. "Okay. Good." I pick up the knife and slam down on the cutting board again. "Good."

_However, you're wrong about being antisocial in order to 'stay in the background'._

"Am I?"

The voice can't really nod, in all actuality, but let's pretend that it does. _Oh, yes, Quigs. Have you forgotten about the one thing you can talk to? Of course, she doesn't like you much, but that's later. New beginnings, or rather just beginnings. I think, yes. Yes, beginnings. Love beginnings._

"Can you stop babbling on?" I ask irritatingly. "Who is this person, anyway?"

_Not a person, per say. A very special, very person-like machine._

I drop the knife again, turning around. "The TARDIS?"

The voice is nothing but a lazy haze that's bumbling around the kitchen, in a type of humanoid form but not one close enough to be an apparition.

"You want me to talk to the TARDIS?" I ask slowly. "Are you insane?"

_Technically, I'm you. So actually you're insane…though I think you already knew that. And I'm only suggesting._

"I can't take one _foot _inside that thing or I'm stuck in Anne of Green Gables Land for the rest of eternity!" I remind the voice.

_You don't have to step inside to talk to her. Just open the doors, pull them open. I always push, she hates that apparently. So do both her and yourself a favor and go find her._

"I don't know where she is!" I confess.

_No, but Martha Jones does. Find her, follow her, and you'll be on your way to the TARDIS. _It pauses for a moment. _In all actuality…you could get the answers you're looking for. About the Silence, the Cage. You never know._

**#**

I'm such a wimp, I really am.

It takes me another two weeks to finally man up and actually go through with it, or at least begin somewhere. From what I remember, on Friday nights Martha and Jenny head out to the pub, and Martha skips ahead to go to the TARDIS. But I've got to make sure.

I make my morning rounds and knock on Martha's door, entering the room to find her face first in her pillow and looking like she's half dead.

"Martha?" I ask. "Martha, it's time to wake up."

She groans and waves her hand, trying to shoo me away. "A half an hour more, please."

I shift around a little bit. "Come on, Martha, please. You've got a job to do."

"Yeah, I know. I was doing it all last night, scrubbing the dining area's floors because of 'misconduct'." She lazily air-quotes the word and turns over. "Just half an hour, I beg of you."

"You'll be late to wake up Mr. Smith," I remind her.

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, don't remind me of him," Martha grinds out. She proceeds to sit up. "I do so much for him. Wash his sheets, bring him food, dust his bloody bookshelf day in and day out. And what do I get? 'On your way, Martha' or 'Don't you have something to do, Martha?' or him just staring at me like I'm too stupid to move! Its infuriating!"

"Yeah," I agree. "He can be a bit of a dick sometimes."

She laughs. "Oh, Flo," she says, "you don't know the half of it. You've seen him, heard of him, but you haven't actually _met_ him. He used to be brilliant, infuriating still but he was so spectacularly amazing and clever that it really didn't matter. But after…well, now he's just not. I mean, sure, he is kind to me most of the time, but…it's just the times, you know? Things aren't peachy for a person like me."

I look around the shut the door behind me. "Alright, you look like you deserve a small break. So why don't I give Mr. Smith his food? You could just call in sick. I'm sure I could get somebody else to wake up the boys."

She raises an eyebrow. "You would do that? For me?"

I shrug. "What can I say? I'm a saint."

She smiles. "Thanks."

I go to exit the room but remember why I actually came in here in the first place. I peek my head back inside. "Oh, and Martha?"

"Hm?"

"What are you doing tonight?"

She shrugs. "Dunno. Probably going down to the pub with Jenny. Why?"

I lick my lips nervously. "Could I…could I come along?"

She frowns. "You're sixteen."

"Old enough," I reason. "It's not like anybody cares."

She hesitates for a while before sighing. "_Fine_. But only because you need to get out, always cooped up in the kitchen or something. You can't drink anything, though."

I grimace. "Wasn't planning to. Tastes like sick most of the time."

Martha laughs. "Keep thinking that. Now go eat breakfast and see after Mr. Smith."

I nod and exit the room, fully realizing what I promised to do.

I have to go meet the Doctor.

Shit.

**#**

I'm standing outside of the door with the tray in my hands. I know the routine, I know what to say, what to do. He's just another teacher, simple as that. Just think of him as another teacher. Stop shaking, just go inside and wake him up. It doesn't have to be long, just leave.

I balance the tray on one hand and turn the door handle, pushing it open.

The room is still the same, minus I few bits and baubles that will obviously be acquired later in time. I set the tray down warily and walk further into the bedroom.

He's sleeping, which is something I've never seen happen naturally in the regeneration I've come to know. One arm's draped over his face and the other one is just hanging there, limp. His nightstand is a wreck, with the lamp pushed over and books shoved to the ground.

He seems to be sleeping soundly enough, though. Best not to wake him just yet.

I move around the room, looking at small photographs and books scattered around on the desk and bookshelf. I can't find the journal or anything like it in plain sight. He must have it tucked away somewhere nobody can see.

I turn around the see the other special object in plain sight, the light peeking through the curtains hitting it directly and making it shine like a star. I walk over to it and proceed to pick it up, tracing the small circles with my finger. I can't hear a damn thing from it, unfortunately. Too bad.

"…one day, we will…get back, I promise," the Doctor mumbles in his sleep, making me drop the pocket watch in surprise. He stirs even more. "I promise you, we will…"

I snatch the watch and place back on the mantel, right where it was before.

"Timey-wi…nonsense, that's nonsense," he goes on. "Everything's nonsense."

"Do—" I clear my throat. "Mr. Smith? You alright?"

"Got to get inside…the box. The box that's nonsense, the nonsense box."

I frown. "Um…Mr. Smith, it's time to get up now."

"I'm not alone…not…alone…"

"Mr. Smith!" I yell.

He bolts upwards, eyes wide.

"That's better," I grumble. I go back to the tray and the door and bring it to his desk. "Now you have a busy day ahead of you, no dilly-dallying around. I let you sleep in a little bit more than Martha usually would, thank me for that. Breakfast is oatmeal, a change for once, and the weather is looking a little gloomy so I would suggest a coat. I plan to dust and tidy things up once you get to class, obviously, so I'll just be waiting outside of door." I flash a quick smile and turn around. "Have a nice day."

"Wait!" he calls back.

I grimace, and turn back to him with a plastered grin on my face. "Yes, sir?"

"Who are you? Where's Martha?"

"I'm Florence," I tell him. "Martha's a little under the weather today, so I'm filling in for her this morning. Now, if you could just excuse m—"

"She's _under the weather_?" he repeats incredulously. "Oh, that terrible!."

"I can assure you that she in sincerely ill," I lie, gritting my teeth. "So please, I'll just be—"

"What is she sick with?" he prods on. "Not anything serious, I hope."

I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down. "I don't know. She's got a cough and a runny nose…I don't know anything else. Maybe it's because I'm new. Now…please, I am going to go n—"

"Why would it have anything to do with being new?"

I sigh. "I don't know sir. Now, I beg of you, I am just going t—"

"Aghhh!" I yell, clutching my hair with my hands. I deep another deep breath and lock my elbows downwards, making tight red fists. "It's always with the questions for you, isn't it?"

He knits his eyebrows together. "Pardon?"

"Always trying to find some answer, some solution, aren't you, _Mr. Smith_?" I vent. "Always having to have it go your way, what _you _think is right, well let me tell you that you are utterly and insanely incorrect on that matter. The solution doesn't always solve everybody's problems; sometimes it just makes everything _so much worse_. You don't realize how much it hurts, how much it affects people. You know, you're labeled as a hero but sometimes you are just the _worst villain _I have _ever_ come to know!"

I've gotten to the point of pointing at him with my chest heaving. I slow down my breathing and relax.

I blink a couple times and stand up straight.

"I think you should leave," Mr. Smith suggests.

"I'm sorry," I apologize. "I am so, so sorry. It's just…you remind me of somebody. A friend I had, once. He um…he's gone now. But you just resemble him so much, I…I'm sorry that was very unprofessional."

"Yes, it was." He exhales. "However, understandable."

I look down at the floor. Hardwood needs to be polished. "Is there anything else you need, sir?"

"Um…" He looks around the room and his eyes fall on the trashed nightstand. "Yes, my bedside table needs to be cleaned. It seems I must demolished it during the night."

I frown. "May I ask why, sir?"

He sighs. "It was probably the dreams again."

"Dreams, sir? You mean the one with the nonsense box?"

He looks at me with suspicion. "How did you know that?"

"You were talking in your sleep, sir," I tell him. "They sound impossible, if you want my opinion—"

"Well, they are dreams," he interjects.

"—and rather extraordinary, too."

He blinks. "Are they? I can barely remember them sometimes."

I pick up a book from the ground and place it on the desk, trying to actually be a maid instead of a poor excuse of one. "You know," I say, "my friend, the one you remind of, he used to have the same problem during a rather trying time in his life. He found it helped if he kept a journal."

"Did he?" he asks, not very interested. He's fallen back onto his back and looks at if he's lost in his head again.

Oh, I am definitely going to hold this against him if I ever see his sorry ass again.

"Yeah," I tell him, picking up another book. "I would suggest from my own experience that you keep one. That is, if you don't already…"

"I don't," he answers.

"Huh," I say, surprised. Didn't he have one? What was it called? "Well, it would be quite a page-turner…from what I've heard you mutter. A journal of impossible things." That was it!

I continue to clean for another minute, finishing the nightstand preparing to head out to the storage closet to grab a duster and mop, when he speaks.

"You talk a lot for a maid," he muses aloud.

I laugh. "You'd be the first to say that," I confess. I wipe my hands on my skirt and start heading out of the door. "You go ahead and get ready; I'm going to grab some soap to polish this ruddy floor."

**#**

So that went…different than expected.

I clean up the room as I am expected to do and stay as far away from the pocket watch as possible. I get the rest of my chores done and am ready to go by sundown for the trip to the pub with Jenny and Martha.

I haven't talked to Jenny much, if at all, but she seems to be really nice. It's a bit of the shame that she's going to practically die in a little less than two months.

I wrap the old overcoat around me, and it still smells like smoke and has frayed edges. The tie was lost awhile ago, so now it just hangs around me, oversized and awkward.

"You've still got that old coat?" Martha asks as I walk up to her in front of the gate.

I shrug. "It's sentimental. From…before this. And it's pretty damn comfortable."

"Oh, you're a tiny thing," Jenny comments.

Yeah, that's kind of what happens when you're eating roughly one and a half substantial meals a day. Still, she means it as a compliment.

I smile. "Thank you."

"I don't think I've seen you around much," she adds.

"I take most of my jobs in the kitchen," I explain. "Better to stay in the background, if you ask me. It's easier."

We start towards the town, which I've only gone into twice. And during one of those times I was dragging an unconscious man so I don't think it really counts.

"So?" Martha asks. "How was Mr. Smith?"

"Um…well, he was worried about you," I tell her. "And I think he was a little intimidated by me."

"Oh? Why?"

"Apparently I talk a lot," I reiterate. "Though, I think he was polite by putting 'a lot' instead of 'too much'."

Martha laughs. "You? Talking too much? You barely speak a word all day other than 'yes, ma'am' and 'yes, sir'." She clears her throat. "No offense."

"None taken." My smile fades slowly into a frown. "Am I really that quiet?"

"Oh, don't worry about it," Jenny dismisses. "Sometimes quiet's good. Means you're thinking a lot, that's what my auntie said."

The pub is packed, however we're shoved outside anyways. Martha orders me some water. We talk, exchange stories. I edit some of mine, of course, and I notice Martha does as well.

"—and then there we were, me and my best friend stranded in god knows where," Martha tells us, a little tipsy. "We were there for weeks, I even got a job trying to support him while he was trying to figure out a way to get us back home. It ended up being this huge complicated thing that I can't even explain."

"Your friend sounds brilliant!" Jenny exclaims. "What did you call him again?"

"His name isn't important," Martha says. She looks over to me. "Florence, weren't you saying something about your friend…Mark? Matthias?"

I groan. "Ugh, not Matthias. Definitely not Matthias. Matthew, that was his name."

"Was?" Martha asks, concerned

"I left him behind," I elaborate. "And I tried to get back in touch with him…but he's been a little different lately." I shake my head. "Anyways, what story was I on? The one with the familial mix-up or the other one?"

"You already told us the familial mix-up," Martha says. She leans forward. "Did they really mistake their daughter for their best friend?"

I nod. "It's all true. Here, I'll tell you the other one. So, Matthew is driving around England like he always when his car…riage _crashes_ in this girl's backyard in some small town with barely even a post office. And he's completely wrecked, with his clothes all raggedy and the like. So, the girl lets him in, gives him food and has him fix up her house a bit in return. And she wants to go along with him, because he's going around everywhere and she's in this tiny village, so it makes sense. And he's about to let her come along, bring her boyfriend along as well, when he gets called in to help fix up his carriage. Now, he says he'll be gone five minutes, but time gets a little out of proportion and it winds up being _fifteen hours_. And when he returns…oh, she pissed. Yells at him for all her worth, even whacks him in the head with a cricket bat. He felt like shit after that, so he got her packed up and brought along her boyfriend and they left."

"Doesn't have the best sense of time, does he?" Martha asks. "I knew someone like that."

"Always late, every time," I snort.

Martha's eyes widen. "Oh, yeah. Speaking of late, it's almost pitch black outside. We should probably be heading back to the school."

We exit the pub, with Jenny and I heading towards the school and Martha going towards the forest.

"Have to go check on something," she explains vaguely. "I've got a garden back there."

She walks off, and we're just a minute away when I put my plan into action.

I feel my pockets and widen my eyes. "Oh, damn." I turn to Jenny. "I think I left my watch at the pub. You go ahead, I'm going to go back and see if some dick hasn't stolen it yet."

She nods, understanding, and I race back in Martha's direction.

She's not that hard to catch up to. However, it is harder to be discreet and unnoticed when I am literally in a forest full of dead branches just waiting to get stepped on and snap. A couple times she turns her head back and I have to duck, hiding in the brush. But not five minutes later there is a small shack in the middle of nowhere, just standing as if it really shouldn't exist in all of this. Gives me déjà vu.

She walks inside and I wait, feeling the small key in between my fingers as I lean my back against one of the tall oaks trees. It's there, so close and I've got to be careful with all of this if I want to get all the information I need.

Fifteen minutes later the shack doors and open and Martha walks out and heads back to the school. That is when I take my chance.

I easily get into the ratty old shelter, seeing as the door has been left unlocked, and shut it behind me, looking at the thing tucked away in the corner.

It looks a little different. Hasn't gotten demolished and then repainted again, so the blue is a little more faded but all the same. Same everything, same sticker, same sign, same windows. It's as if I'm just getting back from another adventure. I can already smell the rainy and metal scent coming from the inside.

I fumble my key into the lock and push the door open, but do not step inside.

"Excuse me?" I ask, and realize I've slipped back into my fake accent. I clear my throat. "Excuse me? Can I speak with the TARDIS?"

Nothing.

I lick my lips nervously and try again. "Okay, come on old girl. You don't know me yet, but I know you. You're there…sleeping possibly." My eyes dart across the darkened console room. "But guess what?" I slam my hand onto the walls of the phone box three times. "Wakey-wakey time!"

Still nothing.

I sigh. "Just…please? This is urgent. And it concerns the Doctor." I pause for a moment. "Well, not this Doctor. A future one, but it's still the same man…sort of. He's a bit odd. But a good odd, not a drunken grandpa odd. More like a slightly tipsy uncle kind of odd."

There's no response, still.

"I'm his friend, you know," I admit. "And he's mine, and I just want to protect him, and definitely do a better job than when he protects me." I take a deep breath. "And I know you don't like me, you never have; but I _need_ you to just do me one favor, that's all I ask."

There's a gentle humming from the lights that are halfway dimmed, but nothing else.

I grit my teeth and kick the door of the box hard, sending it flying back to me and knocking me over onto the ground.

"Perfect," I spit. I screw my eyes shut. "I just want to make sure he's safe. If I don't, then…then it'll all go to hell. And I can't let that happen, I can't. I owe him one for not tossing me out of your doors in the first place."

I relax my body and just lie there for a moment, inhaling the TARDIS scent and remembering good, happy times and just trying to immerse myself in that warm feeling that they bring.

"You are not of this universe," an Estuary English accent observes, cutting through the silence with its monotone. "You should not be here."

I sit up and stare at the man before me, or rather the projection of him, with his brown pinstripe suit and blue tie and all that hair, and smile.

"Knew you'd have to give in sometime," I say, even though in all reality it's not true. "Hello, again."

"Who are you?" the interface asks.

"I'm a future companion of the Doctor," I explain. "And I'm stuck here."

"Scans of you are not alike to any TARDIS inhabitant, past or future," the interface argues.

I frown. "Well, that's odd. Look up the name Jenna Quigley."

It's silent for a moment before reporting back to me. "There is no record of that who is named Jenna Quigley ever boarding the TARDIS. Who are you?"

I blink. "That's…that's impossible, I was on the TARDIS—will be on the TARDIS. I remember, people remember me." I think a little. "Alright. Search for Quigs."

It takes its sweet time and waits five seconds to answer. "One result found. Analyzing…" It blinks. "You are indeed Jenna Quigley, and you have been aboard on the TARDIS."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Thought something was up for a second. What was the result?"

"That is classified until further instruction," the TARDIS rebuffs.

I want to press further, but I don't have the time. "Alright. Fine! But as I said before, I need you to gather up some information for me, if you could."

"What would the information be on?" it asks, still in its same monotonous voice.

"The Silence," I tell her. "The species, to be exact, and their prophecies. Can you do that?"

"I will do my best. Come back here tomorrow night."

**#**

"The Silence are aliens of an unknown planet who are most famous for being memory-proof. Their origin is lost in mythology, however popular lore is lead to believe that at one point the universe was reborn anew by a mysterious wizard. He did so because all of space and time was cracking into fragments, and had to start other before parallel universes bled into one another. He had noticed that creatures were crossing through the cracks, transporting themselves. The Silence are believed to be one of those species. However, it is said that they were crossing just as the universe was reborn. They were thrust through the cracks, and absorbed some of their energy during the journey. According to such folklore, they do and do not exist at the same time. When you are looking at them, they are in full existence, and when you are to look away they are in partial existence, being able to leave suggestions as they are hypothetically in much more of a wavelength form than a physical form.

"The movement itself also has no origin or founding species. It's main goal is to the asking of the ultimate question, the one that must never be asked. There are many prophecies that link to this question, and almost of the Silence's dogma centers around it. However, there is one that involves another participant, a girl, and a device known as the Cage. The Silence have had attempted many times to try and kill the answerer of that the question is aimed towards, but to no avail. This prophecy regarding the Cage is a plan not to kill the answerer, but rather make it so that he will have never existed in this universe in the first place."

I stop scrawling on the tiny notepad and looked up. "What? What has the Cage got to with that?"

"There is not much information on the Cage that is not hidden deep within the archives of the Silence movement," the TARDIS tells me.

"Well hack into them! You're the genius machine!"

"That may be so. However, it will take me substantially longer to try to find this information."

"How much longer?" I ask.

"Three weeks. The firewalls will take extreme research to hack, and even then there are dangers and viruses set up for those trying to gain access to the files."

"Three weeks?" I ask. "Come on, can't you do a bit better than that?"

It stares at me blankly.

I huff. "Fine. Three weeks, I'll mark that on my calendar. And it better be good, for all of our sakes."

**#**

Three weeks passes by. The second month is the same as the first, except for the fact that the weather is substantially colder and the boys are substantially more irritating. I keep to myself, counting the days quietly in my head. I've got two different countdowns: one that leads me to information about the Cage, and the one that leads me to getting the hell out of here.

The one that involves me leaving and burning my maid suit into a pile of ash still has another two weeks to go, approximately. However, tonight I'm heading back out to the shack to finish up my business, and I plan to be punctual.

I've typed up little reminders using the school's typewriters, stuffing them in my pockets and placing them in spots I see every day. Small, inconspicuous locations that nobody would care to look at, obviously. Seeing slips of paper with "The Cage" everywhere would be daunting.

I've packed up and am slipping on the overcoat, humming something I can't place, when I exit the building. It's almost sundown on a Friday night, and anybody who's gone out to go someplace has already left.

_Come on, Jenna, pick up the pace. I've—well, you've got a feeling, don't you? So get out of here before somebody spots you!_

The grounds are quiet, so I'm tip-toeing across the grass when I hear her.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

_Too late. Ah, well. I get caught all the time. Daleks, Sontarans, the Metaphesians…Rose Tyler's mum caught me sneaking some biscuits once. Horrible memory._

I turn around to see Martha at the door, hands on her hips. She walks over to me.

I clear my throat. "Erm…into town?"

"Why didn't you go earlier?"

"I lost track of time."

"And where are you going?"

I hesitate. "To the pub," I lie.

Martha scoffs. "Really? You?"

I smile and shrug. "Yeah. Why not?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh, no. I know that look."

I frown. "What look?"

"It's a boy, isn't it? Are you meeting up with a boy?"

"What? N—"

"Now, I understand. Teenage years, hormones are raging. I snuck out a couple of times myself to go meet up with Aidan Turner or Robbie Park. But I got caught by my dad at one point and let me tell you, there was trouble. So I'm warning you that—"

"I'm not meeting up with a boy, Martha!" I interject.

She laughs. "Really? Then what _are_ you doing, exactly?"

I shift around. "Um…well, ok. I am meeting somebody."

"Oh," she says. Her eyes go wide. "_Oh_. I see. Well, let me tell you that I do _not_ judge, and I know that right now in this time being who you are isn't commonly accepted, but let me tell you that it gets much better."

I frown, then realize what she's saying.

"Um, thank you?" I tell her. "Means a lot."

"No problem," she says. "People like us got to stick together, yeah? The ones who don't fit in here."

I laugh. "Yeah. Us city goers."

She snorts. "You got that right," she says, raising up her hand for a high-five. I accept it, and she frowns.

I shift around a bit and grin. "What's wrong?"

She continues to frown. "Nothing, just…how did you know to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Hit my hand, how did you know?"

I shrug. "It's a high-five. It just sort of…happens. Nothing wrong with that."

"Yeah, but…" She shakes her head. "You know what? Never mind. I must've just gotten my facts wrong. I mean—" She laughs. "—it can't be possible, can't be."

"What can't?"

She just smiles. "Oh, nothing. Like I said, impossible."

She starts walking towards the gate when a question strikes me and I turn around to follow her.

"Wait a minute," I order. "Where are you going?"

She freezes. "Who, me?"

I laugh. "Yeah, you. I mean, it _is_ late, isn't it? And yet you're out here, walking towards town."

"I'm just taking a small walk to go meet up with Jenny," she explains. "Want to come along? I could get you over to wherever your friend is."

"I'm good," I tell her. "I'm just going to head off. See you later."

"Yeah," she says, pushing the gate open with a _clink_. "You too."

**#**

"Alright," I say, sliding my key into place and unlocking the doors. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

The apparition appears, having taken a different form.

"Oh," I say. "Had a sex change, did we?"

The face of Rose Tyler is as indifferent as always.

"Okay." I say, trying to fill the silence. "So. The Cage. Got anything for me?"

"The firewalls protecting the files on the Cage took much effort to get past," the interface begins. "I was only able to grab the basic information. The other connotations around the Cage shall be left to your imagination."

"I really don't care," I say, crouching to sit down. "I just want to know what the hell the thing _is_." I stop supporting myself and drop down to the ground, landing with a thump as a couple slips of paper fall out of my pockets. Oh well, I'll pick them up later.

"The TARDIS is curious," the interface confesses. "And wants to ask why you need this information exactly."

I scoff. "That result you found on me? Yeah, check that. Whatever it is, I'm sure it has it."

This, my friends, is where things start to get a little confusing. So hang in there, I beg of you, because I'm not going to.

"Analyzing," the interface says. It makes more than usual before speaking. "You are searching for the Cage because the Silence and I told you about it, and you have a guess that it involves the prophecy involving you destroying the Doctor."

I frown. "How did you…What was that result again?"

"That is classified until further instruction," the interface tells me.

"Further instruction from whom?" I ask.

She doesn't answer me. Not yet.

And hey, TARDIS? Yeah, now's the time. I'm going to get impatient here, very soon. So…yeah. You've got my permission. Lay it on her—or, me.

The TARDIS interface blinks. "Instruction given."

I frown. "Wait, what?"

"The result found under the name 'Quigs' is that of a series of voice recordings approximately five hours long in total," the interface tells me.

"A recording?" I ask. "By who."

"By you."

"By me? But I haven't—"

"Do you want the information on the Cage or do you not?" the interface asks, voice still even and monotonous.

"I want t—" I stop myself. "Fine. Fine! Tell me about the Cage."

"The Cage is a devise crafted by the Silence Movement," the interface says. "It has been in construction for many decades, and has never been tested due to the amount of power it takes to work. The Cage is actually a holder for the energy converted by another machine, one that does not have a name. This device takes the energy used by the Silence creatures and makes it separate from them, tangible and usable. Since it has not been tested, the Movement does not know what energy, also known as Crack energy, will be formed into, however there have then theories that it shows as light. The goal of the machine is expose the person of the prophecy, the one who the question is aimed towards, with so much Crack energy that they will be erased from their existence in the universe. They will have never been alive in the first place, and therefore they will not have the potential to answer the question, because the question will never have existed."

"So…the Doctor will just be gone? Done with?"

"The person will be erased from existence in the universe."

"Everything he's done for everybody? It'll all just never happen? Ever?"

"The person will be erased from existence in the universe."

"All the—all the people he's affected, the races he's helped, that'd just be in vain? They'd all end up never even hearing of him?" I ask, standing up and shouting.

"The person will be erased from existence in the universe."

"You keep saying that, why a—?" I stop. "You know what? Never mind, just forget it." I write down a couple more words in my notepad before slipping it into my pocket. "Thank you. Thank you, so much, and I'll be seeing you again, I promise." I look down at the slips of reminders. "I should probably clean these up."

I pick up the slips one by one, until there's one left in the dirt. It's already got a tear up front and a smudge of dirt. And it looks a little…familiar.

You've got to be kidding me.

I pick up the paper and inspect it.

"Oh, you _have _to be shitting me," I whisper. "No way. Oh, this is just—fucking time machines and their god damn temporal shit."

The interface doesn't speak a word.

I lick my lips and exhale sharply. "Stupid paradoxes." I turn to the TARDIS and fold the reminder in half, separating the word 'Cage' into two. I throw it into the console room and sigh again. "Take that and put it somewhere for safe keeping. You probably already know where it's going to end up."

**#**

Life is slow from then on. Just a simple countdown, until the posters for the annual dance start popping up and I know it's going to happen, very soon.

I just wait cautiously, day by day looking for small hints that I remember. A line, an action, something that'll tell me it's time to get out of here.

The Doctor said the Family of Blood are like the Visichek, right? So I've got to go before they can even get a whiff of me. Or else everything goes to shit…again.

Everything is carefully taken note of, every second I'm awake. I keep to the background only, taking more jobs in the kitchen than strictly necessary and not stopping to talk during my rounds. Things are done quickly and quietly, nothing else.

But today is the today, even if I don't wake up knowing it.

I make my rounds, prepare lunch, and am on my way to find George back in his room. The onions look like they've got something nasty on them, but he usually isn't so happy when I throw out things. Calls it 'wasting half-good material'.

I walking over there when Martha comes hurdling down the hallway, bumping into me.

"Sorry!" she apologizes, turning around for a quick second before taking off again.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"It's Mr. Smith, he fell down the stairs!" she yells back. "I've got to go see him!"

She takes off again, running so fast I think she might break the sound barrier.

He fell down the stairs…

"It starts today," I whisper to myself.

_Ah, indeed it does. _The voice has gained a fairly ambiguous body as well by now, and it shifts its weight in excitement. _Time to vamoose!_

I start heading in the direction of my room. "Who the hell says 'vamoose'?" I ask.

_I do. Obviously. So, technically, you do as well, believe it or not._

"Shut up," I say, but can't stop smiling.

_Only when you do. Which you won't, knowing you._

"You're lucky I can't punch you."

**#**

Clothes, coat, shoes. No more buns, buns are stupid and always look wonky. Money's in my pockets. I'll actually have some spending money for a bit, and it's honestly earned, too. That hasn't happened in a while. I stuff all my belongings back into my coat, just like it was before, and leave my suitcase on the bed, abandoned.

Goodbye, bed. Probably won't have another like you again.

You know, I'll be missing some of the stuff here. People who are concerned about me, a warm bed and good food. Shame that has to end.

I could stay here, change the timeline and just not care. Continue to live out a mediocre lifestyle in WWI-era England. Could be good, find somebody maybe and settle down. Staying in one place is amazing, screw what I said before. I'm sick to death of travelling now.

But I can't do that. I promised myself. Can't break promises.

I walk out into the hallways and get a couple stares, which is expected. I ignore them, trying to head out to town as quick as possible.

With one stop, of course.

I watch as Martha steps out of the room to follow Nurse Redfern, who's got a brown leather book in her hand, and watch them disappear around the corner.

I take steady steps until I see him traipsing around his room, hand on the back of his head, and stop myself in the doorway.

It takes him a couple moments, but he eventually acknowledges my existence.

"Hello?" he asks warily.

I exhale sharply. "Hi," I reciprocate.

"What are you doing here?" he asks. He frowns. "Aren't you that maid that filled in for Martha…Felicity?"

I laugh. "Florence," I correct. "My name is Florence."

"Ah, yes," he says. "I remember you…you shouted at me."

I look down. "Yeah, I wasn't in the best of moods that day."

"So…pardon me for asking this, but why are you here?"

"I told you about the friend I had," I explain. "And you were the only one I really told. So I thought that, if I'm going to tell anyone why I'm leaving, it would be best to tell you."

"You're leaving?" Mr. Smith repeats.

I nod. "You know that friend I mentioned? Well, I lost him a while ago. And I was upset with myself. So I ran off, not really caring where I ended up. But then I wound up here one night. Stumbled across Martha, actually, and she made me get a job here. And I was content here, not completely happy but content. But lately, I've been thinking, and I'm going to try to find him. The friend, that is. Because I've got something to tell him."

"You do?" he inquires. "What is it, then?"

"Nothing that you need to know at the moment, trust me. But I've got to treat it like it's life or death, you know? So I'm leaving."

"Well, I wish you the best of endeavors, then," he says, smiling a little.

"Thanks," I say. "And to you, too. Especially these next couple of days. I've got a feeling they'll be interesting." I grin. "Goodbye, Mr. Smith."

He frowns of a second at my words, but quickly recovers. "Yes, farewell."

**#**

I purchase a train ticket to the furthest destination possible at the train station, and remain comfortable in third class. I eat, I sleep, I talk to the people on board a little bit.

Then, one morning two days later, I'm sitting in my cabin when I'm caught off guard by a flash of white light, almost jumping out of my seat. But then another happens, and another.

And I'm off.

It's dark, where I am. In fact there's almost no light at all, except for that of one singular star in the sky the size of a speck of dust. The rest is black rock and jungle for what looks like miles and miles.

_Oh, Quigs. Isn't it good to be back?_

**#**

**So, the Rings of Akhaten is on right now, so I think I'm going to vamoose.**

**Again, sorry for the long wait. But this chapter is roughly 8,900 words and took quite a bit of editing for accuracy. I do admire your patience, though. I'll try to be shorter between updates and such. You guys are awesome!**

**Reviews are very much appreciated!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	34. Solam Entis, Part 4

**I am so sorry for the delay, but my computer shut off while I was writing this and didn't save about 4,000 words, so I had to rewrite it all.**

**Trigger warning for this chapter.**

**#**

It takes a couple weeks to get back into the swing of things. All the rules I've laid out, all the guidelines and goals I had made have to be implemented again. I have to get used to the life again, to cold nights and old food. Farringham doesn't seem so bad anymore. I mean, the risk of destroying the universe and everything was greater, but I didn't have to worry about running and hiding and searching for something to eat or someplace to sleep. And now I've got to relearn those habits.

Some come back easy. Like when I'm sleeping in a bus station, and I feel a hand on my waist. The process flows smoothly: grab hand, twist. Turn and hit the stomach at a good angle—right under the ribs usually works. Kick and stand up, running until the guy isn't even a speck on the horizon anymore and hope to god the person isn't the persistent type.

Others are more difficult. Sleeping for four hours a night is hard enough as it is, but waking myself up every hour to check my location is even harder. I get caught stealing food, which hasn't happened since month #3. After a night at the police station I zap out, but still. It seems like I'm losing my touch.

I have to remind myself of my own name sometimes. It's Jenna, not Florence. I'm American. I don't have a mediocre accent, which is difficult to uphold after 3 month of it being in constant use.

Most of the time I'm too busy trying keep myself alive to really think of a way out. Some way to find him, to get back and leave this life. I can't physically interact with any version of him, except in the special circumstances, and I can't just _summon_ him. I've tried to contact him before, but it's all ended up in disappointment.

But I can ring him.

The idea comes when I'm in Shanghai, somewhere in the late 2020s, walking through the crowded streets absentmindedly. It's a tourist trip, since nothing odd has gone on in all the two hours I've been walking around. I keep to myself, humming a tune I can't even remember the name to. I think it's Paparazzi, possibly something else.

Then I see it.

It's a mobile phone advertisement. It must be for a well known conglomerate because I know I've seen their logo a couple times before. It's a woman, smiling and holding what looks to be a sort of cell phone up to her ear, laughing. The words explain some of the new features to the company, such as free minutes and what have you, but that's not important. What's important is the phone.

I pause in the street and shove my hand into my pocket, digging and pulling out my own mobile. It's turned off with a giant crack cutting through the top right down to the bottom left, and is smudged with dirt. But it still works.

Maybe…

_Stop it._

I sigh, but don't turn around to look. The voice has grown limbs and a torso, but no definition of a face or solid body. It's still a transparent mist, like there's a stray eyelash in my line of sight. I press the power button on my phone and walk away from the traffic of people and into a wedge of concrete between two buildings.

"Go away," I order, watching my screen light up. Electronics are another thing that have taken some time to adjust to again, especially toilets. God bless toilets.

_Can't. You brought me here._

"You use that excuse every time," I remind it. "And it's a lame ass one, at that."

_It's the truth._

"The truth is lame, too," I argue. "Now leave. I've got to make a phone call."

_I don't think that's a good idea._

"What do you know?"

_Everything you do. And what he does, a bit. I mean, what you know that he knows—what I know—whatever it is._

"You're making no sense," I exhale, flipping through my address book. Come on, I put it somewhere.

_Well, he usually doesn't make any sense either. So now I am._

"You're not him, stop saying that."

_Now, see there's that denial again. Very interesting, that is._

"I told you to go away," I repeat. It's not in the D section…maybe the T? Yeah, I'll look there. "I don't want you around."

_And yet I'm still here._

"You're just being a gigantic asshole," I say. "And anyways, I'm not in denial."

_Oooh, denial about being in denial. That's new, but makes sense. Don't want to admit the truth, eh? I understand, but it's very unhealthy for you, you realize._

"I don't care," I dismiss. Tabitha, Tamara, Tania—I haven't talked to her since seventh grade—Tammy…"Now leave."

_You don't want to do this, Quigs._

"Why not? It's the best idea I've had all these nine months I've been here. What could be so bad about it?"

_You'll get your hopes up. And getting them too high like that can have severe repercussions._

"Like that?" I ask, finally looking at the entity.

_This can only end in disappointment._

"You seem pretty certain on that."

_You are as well. You realize that is what it means, Quigs._

"I'm confident in this," I reaffirm, but my voice is slightly wobbly. "This will work, I'm sure of it."

_Jenna, this could go so many ways. There are too many outcomes, there have to precautions, especially with you—_

"'Especially with me' what?" I ask.

…_Especially with you being how you are._

"And what is that?" I inquire.

_You know what it is. Now please, Quigs, turn the mobile off._

"I'm calling and that's that," I say, glancing at my battery. I've only got 4% left. "Now shh, I've got to make this quick."

I click on the contact labeled 'TARDIS Phone' and bring the thing to my ear.

One ring…okay, it's working, that's good. Two rings…alright, he should pick up soon.

Three rings…any minute now.

Four rings…five…

"We're sorry, but the person you're trying to contact is unable to reach the phone at the moment. At the tone, please record your—"

I end the call.

"Don't say a word," I command. I take a deep breath. "I've still got some battery left."

I click the button again.

One ring…two…

Three…

"Please," I whisper. "Please, just please."

Four…

"Hello?"

I sigh. "Oh, thank god. Hi."

"Who is this?" the person on the other end asks. It's an old man, from what I can tell. "And you did you get this number?"

"Uh…a friend gave it to me," I explain. "Now could I please speak to the Doctor?"

There's a pause. "Pardon?"

"The Doctor," I repeat. "He's the one piloting the TARDIS, right? I mean, hopefully he is. Or else we're all in trouble—then again, he's a crap pilot sometimes anyway—but I need to speak to him. Can you put him on?"

"He already is on," the old man tells me.

I take a moment, realizing what he means.

"Wait a second, is this—are _you _the Doctor?"

"In the flesh," the Doctor answers.

I pause another moment, trying to figure out how to respond. "Which regeneration?" I ask.

"This is my second," he admits, saying his words slowly and unsurely. "Young lady, how do you know about regeneration?"

"Not important," I reassure. "I mean…yeah, it kind of is—but not right now. Right now there's something else entirely."

"What is it?" he asks, concerned. You can almost hear him frowning.

"I need you to remember something for me," I tell him. "You see, I know you. But not this you, another you."

"You're from my future?" he asks. "I shouldn't even be talking to you right now! To do so could destroy the universe."

I smirk. "Yeah, well that's already happened once before," I comment. I shake my head. "But that's not the point. The point is, Doctor, that some hundreds of years from now, in your eleventh body, you make a mistake. Now, you make a lot of mistakes in that body, but those aren't in relation to me. But at one point you make a horrible decision, and I can't stop it. But I—we—can fix it."

It doesn't calm him down. "This is highly dangerous! You shouldn't even be speaking to me!"

"This is the only way I can think of to reach you without splitting the universe in two," I clarify. "But Doctor, you need to listen to me. On the night before Christmas in 1947, you make a horrible choice. You let me live." I lick my lips. "And that causes some problems. So please, I'm begging you, I need you to come a specific date and time after it's happened. You'll know it when you see it. It's a simple favor, I just need you to do it."

There's a pause. "Where do I need to be?"

"Shanghai, in the year 2027," I tell him. "On the fifth of—"

There's a beeping sound in my ear. I pull the phone away and I feel my stomach drop.

"No, no don't die on me now!" I say, hitting random buttons. It's no use, and the screen blacks out. "No, no! You stupid thing!"

I try pressing buttons for a couple more seconds before hurling the thing into the wall. It shatters.

_I hate to say 'I told you so', but—_

"Don't," I grind out, my throat feeling thick and my eyes heavy. "Don't say, please."

_I said that getting your hopes high like this was a dangerous thing._

I ignore it. "That was my last hope. My last chance at saving myself."

_What? Of course it isn't! You can keep looking, you'll find him—me—him one day._

"Yeah, but how long? How long will it take me?" I say, my voice getting higher and higher with each word. My vision blurs. "Another month? Another year?" I gulp. "I could spend my entire life looking for him, constantly tied to him."

_Don't give up, please. You'll find him, I'm sure of it._

"No," I deny, my whole body shaking. "No, I won't. It's useless. I'm useless, I keep finding him but he's _wrong_. It's not the right one when I see him, or it _is_ the right one and he's too far away. I can never win."

_Come now, don't be so down. It'll be okay, it'll all be okay. Just you wait and see, and it will be magnificent._

"I'm tired of waiting," I grind out. "I've waited so long, been living this miserable excuse for a life. Other teenagers are having their sweet sixteen parties and doing homework, and where am I? Talking with a hallucination in a dingy alley. I can't remember what my friends faces look like, did you know that? No, of course you did." I shake my head. "I've been living this horrible existence too long." I pause. "Perhaps it's time I ended it."

_Jenna—_

"Don't try to tell me it isn't true," I seethe. "You've seen it, you're me. I've been keeping my promise all this time—through the dumpster food and the running for my life and the creepy men at the train stations. Who knows if he kept his? He's probably going around, bathing in his own self-loathing for all eternity. And you know what? The bastard deserves it."

_Jenna, please. Stop thinking that way._

"Oh no, I'm just getting started," I tell it. "I want this to be finished, I've always wanted it to be finished. And I had two options for how to do that, and the most likable one might as well just not be there in the first place, for all I care."

_Jenna, you can't do this. It's idiotic. If you try you won't come back, it's a one way ticket, no take backsies or anything._

"That's the point!" I scream. "That's the entire plot of the idea! No going back, it's done with! Over! Finally _over_!"

_I think—_

"Who cares what you think?" I bite out. "Nothing you can say can stop me."

_I know. And I—I understand. I am you, and I know what you're feeling. But I think we should reach some kind of a middle ground and not do something rash that we'll regret later._

I calm myself down and gulp. "What did you have in mind?"

_A compromise._

I blink and sniffle a bit. "Compromise?"

The entity nods. _We've been here ten months, yeah? So in two months, you'll have been hopping around for an entire year._

I nod. "Yeah, and?"

_All I'm saying is that…if we go for another two months and I—he… _It sighs. _And we don't encounter him, then I'm okay with you doing whatever you want to do. I won't talk about, just reside peacefully in your head. But give us—give him—until the end of this year. Two months, got it?_

Two months. 60 days. It's not like I haven't waited any more than that before. Just two more months. A lot can happen in two months. And, then again, a lot cannot happen. And I've already given up now. So, really, what do I have to lose?

"Got it."

**#**

The days count down, one right after the other. 54 days. 41 days. 29 days. They're all the time, in one way or another. The cities al look the same, feel the same. The ships all contain the same types of people. Space is space, with stars and big black emptiness that stretches until the end of the Universe.

Everything is uniform, gridded. A copy of each other, even me. The classic tragedy, the victim of her own stupid choices. A stereotype.

The only that ever changes is the number of days left.

**#**

Sometimes, however, on rare occasions you get surprises.

There's the whiteness and the tugging in my gut, and then I'm somewhere else again. It's warmer than where I was before, which happened to be up near the North Pole for some reason. After almost freezing I shiver as the warmth of the area around me touches me, and shake the snowflakes off of me. Then I open my eyes.

"Oh," I say. "Um…hello."

I'm inside a house, which has happened before. But I usually end up in somebody's closet. And usually they're not home, or they're busy enough that I can sneak out.

In this case, there's a Greek family sitting down and eating dinner right in front of me. Or, at least they were. Now they're kind of…staring.

"Uh…I'll just go, then," I say, looking back and pointing to the door. "Yeah. Sorry."

I start moving towards the exit when one of the family members, a little boy, stands up.

"Wait!" he yells. "Wait, stop!"

I frown and turn around. "Look, this has all been a huge misunderstanding. You don't have to call the police or anything, I haven't taken anything. I'm leaving, okay?"

He shakes his head. "No, no. You look so skinny."

I look down. "Um…okay?"

The boy turns to his mother. "Mama, she looks like she hasn't eaten in ten years!"

"Oi!" I yell. "I'll have you know I ate breakfast yesterday."

"Child, you look like you have been starving yourself," the mother agrees. She stands up and gestures to the table. "Come, sit down. I'll make you another dish."

"Oh, no, I pass," I say. "It's okay, I really don't want to waste your ti—"

"Nonsense," the mother denies. "Sit down. I insist."

The food is delicious and the family doesn't ask too many questions except for my name and if the food was good. I hang around for dinner and a small while afterwards before leaving with a smile on my face. Fresh food is nice, since I ran out of money quickly, and talking to actual people is wonderful. I had forgotten how nice actually, truly talking to living masses of skin and water was.

After walking along the Greek countryside for another three hours I'm off again.

Some surprises are absolutely wonderful.

**#**

And some surprises throw you off and catapult you headfirst into a wall.

I pop in during the late afternoon, somewhere around two o'clock, on a busy street. The crowd easily molds around me like the people are made of water and I'm a boulder rolled out to sea.

Wow, I'm getting really good with these similes. I'm going to have to write that one down.

Anyways, after almost a year of jumping around the Doctor's timeline I've gathered a list of general places his companions want to go visit. This is most definitely one of them.

It's easy to tell. The slightly overcast sky, the skyscrapers clawing at the clouds and throwing down their shadows onto civilians below. The crying symphony of car horns and the low murmur of people just talking. There's advertisements everywhere, from a moving Coca Cola logo to a live feed of a group of women dancing on a jumbo tron the size of an Olympic swimming pool.

I'm in New York.

Not that I haven't before. The first couple of trips were panic-inducing, but after the tenth visit it just kind of became a thing. New New York, New York 2.0, Old New York, I've seen them all.

This is regular New York, somewhere in the late 1990s to the early 2000s. This is the New York I'm most familiar with, the one that's at its peak in construction before everything gets torn down again. Shame, at that.

After the fifteenth trip here I started keeping a mental checklist of places to go. New York's the same as every city. Same street names, grids, people, tourist traps. But it's also got a bunch of distractions as well. I've been to Rockefeller Center, Times Square, Madison Gardens, Lady Liberty, so on and so forth. I even got into the World Trade Center when I popped in during a rainy day in 1983. The only places I've yet to visit are the Empire State Building and Central Park.

I look around and decide to go through my normal routine. It's October in 2012 here. Funny, I should be in school right now. But instead I'm homeless and being dragged through the timeline of an arrogant ass.

It's weird how things work out sometimes.

I decide to head down to the park, try to enjoy myself. If I'm distracted enough I might actually forget about some things, like they never happened. And it's bliss.

Central Park is nice, but there's a chill in the air that feels unnatural, as if things are off-balance. I shake it off. Something must be going on, then. But I don't need to worry about it too much right now.

I stick to the area around the lake for a bit, then go admire the fountains. People watching used to be fun but now it's lost its allure.

I go bike path after bike path and manage to end up right where I started adll over again after an hour of wandering around. I come circling back around and decide to head in a different direction, back towards the bridge I had crossed when I first entered the place.

That's when I hear them.

"—you know you don't have to spend every waking moment attached to each other's lips," the first voice says.

"What, uncomfortable?" another voice with a distinctly different accent pipes in.

"Yes! And, if you keep doing that eventually your faces will get stuck like that, all kissy-faced and puckered up."

"Doctor, it's physically impossible for that even happen," another male voice informs.

"Oh, what do you know?"

"I _did_ go to medical school."

"Yes, well I'm a Doctor. Says it in the title. And you're just a nurse."

"I'll have you know that nursing is an _important_ medical profession, and you shouldn't—"

"Boys, boys, _boys_," the differently accented voice chides. "You can fight later, right now we're going to have a _picnic_ in _New York_. Enjoy it!"

My heart stops completely.

He's here. They're here. They're all here and it's _right_. It's not pre-Silencio, and they're not far away having an adventure. They're close. I can _listen_ to them speaking.

Something's off, though. Amy mentioned a picnic, yeah? That sounds familiar.

But fuck it. I'm taking my opportunities when I can get them.

"Oh, please. I've been to New York tons of times. It's a good place, yes, but I don't see why you humans see such allure to it. In my opinion, a place that's much better is—"

"Doctor! Doctor!"

I run towards him as fast as I can and end up ramming right into him, sending him flying back with an 'oof!' sound and a rather concerned expression on his face.

"Oh my god, I found you," I say, muffled by his jacket. I squeeze him for all I've got, but he just kind of stands there like he's not sure what to do. "I found you, finally, you sneaky assface."

"Um…hello?" he says, slowly and unsurely. "Not that I don't mind the hugging, but you're near to strangling me."

I let go and can feel myself smiling for the first time in what seems to be ages. "I'm sorry, it's just that it's been so long and I tried so many times to reach you and tried to keep inside the guidelines and now you're _standing here_. I found you, isn't that amazing?"

"Found me?" he asks. "You were looking for me?"

I laugh. "Well of course I was looking for you, you told me to! Sure, it took me under a year to actually succeed and find the right version of you, and for you it took substantially longer." I look over to Amy and Rory, who are staring at me, and wave. "Hello! Nice to meet you again…kind of. Not for you, yet." I look them over. Amy's got her glasses peaking out of the picnic basket.

"Oh, shit," I mutter.

Amy looks down at the basket. "What?"

I blink and shake my head. "Nothing. Nothing at all, just remembered something…but it doesn't matter."

Amy smirks. "You sure seem excited."

I take a deep breath. "Well, yeah. I am. You don't have a clue how long I've been hopping around looking for him."

"Why were you looking for the Doctor?" Rory asks, confused.

"Because the idiot sent me to get dragged around time, that's why," I answer. I frown and turn back to the Doctor, hitting him on the shoulder. "I should kick your ass, you know, for pulling something like that. Do you have any idea what it's been like for me? I mean, sure, it's been longer for you, but you've got a TARDIS. I got an overcoat the size of a baby whale." I tug at the lapels of the coat, pulling it over the ratty products from the Goodwill bins back in Tulsa.

The Doctor just frowns, looking at me like I'm a new sort of species. "Pardon me, but—"

"And the food I had to eat, do you know how many stages of mold there are? Because I do."

"I—"

"I had almost gone insane!" I confess. "Getting thrown around your stupid timeline with your stupid TARDIS."

"Erm—"

"I thought there was no hope left in ever even seeing you again!" I yell, but the corners of my mouth turn up into a smile anyways. "But you're HERE, and I don't have to keep looking, isnt that great?"

The Doctor stares me like I've just escaped from the loony bin. I frown.

"What?" I ask. I look behind me. "Something wrong?"

"I apologize for asking this...but who are you?"

I laugh. "What? Doctor, it's me," I answer incredulously. "Quigs! I mean, yeah, the face is a little dirty and the hair's a bit longer, but come on! It's Jenna!"

"I'm sorry, but I still have no idea what you're talking about," he says, looking even more bewildered than before. I look to Rory and Amy for help but look at their equally lost faces and remember that I can't get any from them to begin with right about now. I turn my eyes back onto the Doctor and look at him a bit before laughing again.

"Your kidding, aren't you?" I ask, laughing. That has to be the only solution. "You've got to be. It's not funny, you know, like a lot of your jokes."

"Oi! My jokes are spectacular! And how would you know?"

I gape. "I'd been listening to them nonstop with you around me! Like um...like this one time, I was eating lunch and you ran into the room and just asked me, 'What do you call clever homo repitilia?' And you answered-"

"A Slylurian," we say at the same time. I grin. "See? You remember!"

"I don't ever recall telling you that. I dont know who you are."

"It's still not funny," I tell him, trying to get him to break his facade. He doesn't. "The Silence ship? I stowed away? Come on, that's pretty memorable."

His face is still blank.

"Christmas, 1947!" I yell, getting more and more furious with him. "The Visichek! I jumped off of a god damn building and you managed to save my ass! Tell me you remember that, please."

"I don't. I remember those things ever happening."

"What? No, they happened, I'm sure of it! I'd been traveling with you for three months!"

He frowns a bit more before his eyes widen. "Oh! Oh, I see. Yes, I see what's happened."

"Doctor, what's going on?" Amy asks.

He turns to the couple. "Ah! Yes, we'll it seems like my timeline has caught up to me. Or, rather, backtracked to me. Depends on whose view your looking from, mine or...actually, mine."

"'Scuse me?" I ask, not sure what he's talking about.

He faces me. "Time isn't straightforward, it's kind of like a huge mess of twists and turny things that somehow thread together to make the fabric of the Universe."

"Well, yeah, I got that, but what's that got to do with anything?"

"You said you've been jumping around my timeline, correct?"

"Yeah, because you-"

He slaps a hand over my mouth. "Ah ah! Don't tell me. Spoilers."

I take his wrist and shove it away from me. "Spoilers?"

"Yes, spoilers! Look at me, you see this?" He gestures to himself. "I'm not your Doctor. Some other future, just as dashing Doctor is. But it isn't me. I don't know you yet. And I apologize for whatever has happened to you, but I'm going to fix it."

My eyebrows draw in together. "What?"

"I'll make myself a mental note to pick you up, how about that? Come here...ohh, an hour from now? That would work, we'll be out of here by then."

"What? No, no! That doesn't make sense."

"Which part?"

"The entire thing! I'm not from your future, I'm from before! I'm pre-Silencio, before asylum and the dinosaurs and everything. I'm before all that."

"Then how do you know about all of those things, then?" the Doctor argues.

I hesitate. "But that's not-that's not possible, you have to remember me!"

"I'm sorry, but I've never seen you before," he apologizes.

I gulp, starting to a weight start to settle in my stomach. "You have to. You've got to, I got it _right_."

He looks at me with genuine sorrow and confusion. "You must be confused, I've never seen your face before, uhm...what was your name again? I didn't catch it the first time."

No. No, no. I got it _right_, I know I did. I found the right him, I found him. Didn't I?

_He doesn't know you, Jenna. You know he doesn't_.

"No," I mutter. "No, this isn't right."

"I'm sure we'll be able to figure it-"

But I've already started running. No, no, no. He's supposed to know me, he's supposed to know my name own god damn name. This was going to be it, I was going to be saved. I was going to stop worrying about everything and go back to normal, like it was before with the TARDIS and danger and him annoying me me annoying me back-it was going to be like that again.

I keep running and running until I collapse onto a park bench, legs aching. I don't cry, I never cry. But I take slow, deep breaths and try to force air through the lump that's closed up my throat. I stare at my feet, try to block out anything and everything that could get me thinking, remembering. No more remembering.

I can feel it beside me, pulsating some sort of phantom warmth. I keep my eyes on the ground.

"How many more days?" I ask in a low voice.

_Jenna, I-_

"_How many more days?_" I grind out.

It pauses. _Twelve. But Jenna, you can't let this-_

"Twelve days," I interrupt. "Twelve more days, and that's it. Good. I can go twelve days."

_Quigs, you need to think reasonab-_

"I don't need to think at all," I cut off. "And don't ever call me Quigs."

**#**

The hair is too long and frankly too irritating. So, with four days to go, I cut it. It's a bum job, all uneven and messy and almost cropped right up to my ears. But it's tiring to have it in my eyes all the time.

It's not really relevant to the story, but I thought somebody might want to know.

I also stop eating with two days left. I don't feel hungry anyways.

**#**

The day is here. I wake up in a farmer's shed, lowly lift myself from the ground, and realize it.

"Today's the day," I whisper.

_Yes. Yes it is, isn't it?_

I don't respond until I've jumped into the middle of some planet's marketplace. Or, I think it's that. I can't recall it very well. After my encounter with the Doctor I didn't really stop to look at anything. I just kept going forward, never talking to anybody or interacting with anyone other than myself. But I do remember that there was some bustling going on and music, so I'm fairly certain it was marketplace. But that doesn't matter.

Anyways, I'm in the marketplace a half an hour later when I actually talk again.

"It's kind of surreal," I comment. "It's just kind of here, you know?"

_So…when are you going to do it? You're already a bit of a ways into the day._

"I'm not just going to wake up and off myself," I explain, keeping my voice level. "It's got to be planned."

_And do you have a plan?_

"I'm working on it," I admit, looking around. "Somewhere not to public, that's for sure. But not so private either. I mean, I've got to be found. And it has to be certain, no probable chance of survival."

_Ah, yes. Then that would rule out pills, poison, hanging, and…oh, and drainage of blood._

"I know that."

_I know, I'm just telling you again._

"So, what do I know to be my options?"

_There are plenty of things and for the sake of my own comfort I'd rather not say them. Too unpleasant for my liking._

I keep skipping from place to place, all of them widely public places or areas so completely abandoned that I could shout at the top of my lungs and nobody would notice. I disappear and reappear multiple times, but I just don't have the incentive yet. I mean, I have purpose for what I'm going to be, but I don't have the _motivation_, you know?

I'm going around the hallways of a spaceship. I think it's Rauligian, possibly not. But it's familiar.

_You could do it here. Empty vacuum of space, it's fairly simple._

"I'd need to open the air shaft," I remind it. "That'd take too much work. And people might get hurt."

_You know, if I didn't know any better—and I actually do—I would stay you're _stalling.

"I'm not stalling," I argue. "I want this to be over. But it's got to be right."

_And what's right?_

**#**

"That's right," I answer, pointing to the tall building in front of me. It's about ten stories up in a rundown neighborhood somewhere in Detroit. It's got steps right down the middle, which if aimed at well enough is a surefire way to take any survival out of the equation.

The apparition whistles. _Crikey. Good choice._

I keep looking at the overcast sky above me. It must be early morning here. "No scolding?" I ask with my tone even and unemotional. "No convincing me to save myself? Nothing?"

_It's your decision. I can't stop you no matter how hard I try._

"You sure give up easily," I remark, still looking at the top. It's awful high.

_I am modeled after him, after all. This is what he would've done, in the end. He's a coward. He always runs away._

"That's not something he would say," I point out. "You're losing your touch."

_No, but it is something you would say. And as my job is coming to an end, I guess I am slacking off a bit._

"Fat lot of good you are."

_I did all that I could. And, in the end, I think I did a pretty swell job. But now I'm going to hop back inside that head of yours until the deed is done._

I smirk. "It was nice travelling with you."

_Ditto._

And then silence.

The shaking starts when I'm halfway up the fire escape. Throughout all of this, I've still retained a fear of heights that's gotten worse with my experience. I can barely get a good grip on the rails and fear I might just fall down the side of the building first.

But it feels right. It's how I came into this mess, and it's how I'm going out.

I reach the top and walk over to the edge, not stepping up yet but leaning over to get a good view looking downwards. Everything narrows down at the end, coming to a sharp point on the ground and it's absolutely terrifying.

That's why, when I hoist my feet onto the ledge, and I do a 180 and turn away. There. Much better, if not just slightly more comfortable.

There's a gust of wind against my back and makes me almost topple forwards. I go wide-eyed and gain my balance back, shuddering and squeezing my eyes shut as tight as I can.

One step is all I need. One action and it's done. Five—maybe six seconds and that's the end of it. All the suffering, the scrounging for food in the middle of the night or the sleepless weeks or the paranoia. No more prophecy, no more worries. Just emptiness, sweet emptiness with nothing that feels, nothing that hurts. Just a step and I'm done with this, all of this.

No more unanswered questions or friends that forget your name. No more dreams of a better life. No more fear, no more hope. No sadness or joy. Just plain, unending nothing. And I'm okay with it, because it's much than this. So much better than this.

There's a sound from the fire escape entrance but I ignore it. Just the wind, probably. Yeah, that's it. The wind.

One step, one simple step and then blissful nothingness. And end to all my pain.

So why do I feel like I'm frozen from the waist down?

Come on, don't be a coward. You've been waiting for this for two months, maybe even longer if you think about it. You knew from the start that he wasn't coming back and there was nothing you could do about it. But you kept yourself tied to that small string of hope for the mere value of keeping your word, didn't you? A stupid promise, that's what you used to convince yourself to keep going. Well where's that promise now? It's gone, and has relocated ten stories below. How about you go find it?

I take a deep breath and shift myself from side to side, regaining my composure. I lift my heel from the ground and—

"Stop! Stop, Quigs, stop, please!"

I'm surprised, but I keep my eyes shut and squeeze them even tighter in my frustration.

"I thought you said you were going to go, you prat," I tell the apparition. "Now leave."

"Quigs, you need to stop this. Get down, now." There's real concern in its voice, something that strikes me as odd from the waning act shown before.

"We made a compromise and you agreed to it," I remind it. "You said you couldn't do anything more, and you can't. You're not real, so back off!" I readjust my stance on the ledge a little more, shivering.

"What?"

"Oh, don't play that game! I didn't find him. I took the time I could give and I never found him, ever. And after being out here so long, after two months of waiting I am done. I am so, so done and I just want it all to just finish. My own series finale, no more continuation."

It pauses. "Quigs, I am _begging you_. Just step down, please. I can help."

"I told you not to call me that name!" I yell. "And what help are you? You're a voice in my head, a daydream."

"I can assure you, Jenna, that I am very much real," it tells me.

I laugh. "Yeah, right. What, have you gone insane as well? My own hallucination reached its breaking point, isn't that rich."

"Jenna, open your eyes," the entity orders.

"Why?" I ask.

"Just do it, please!"

I slowly and relax my eyelids and let them float up, bringing my sight of sight up from the concrete supporting my feet to the face just three yards away from me.

He's gotten older, yes, but not too much older. He has the tweed, the bow tie, the ankle-high trousers, the boots. His hair is a little more uncontrolled than usual, like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly. He's so detailed, right down to the wrinkles on his forehead. And his eyes—I've rarely seen that much fear in someone's eyes before.

"Jenna, I'm real," the entity says. "I'm here, now step down before you do something you regret."

I let out a shuddering breath. "No, no you can't be here. That's not possible, you're just another mind trick I've set up for myself. Another false hope. And I'm sorry, buddy, but it's not going to work."

"I am 100% real; I know I am," the hallucination reaffirms. He holds out his hand. "Now take my hand and get away from that ledge."

My eyes dart between his face and the outstretched palm leaning towards me.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" I ask shakily. "How do I know that you aren't apparition?"

He pauses for a moment. "You don't," he admits. "But you have to trust me, Jenna. Just have faith in me on this."

I stare at the hand. If I grab it, what's going to happen? If it's just another mind trick, then I'm fall forward back onto the top of the building. I can start over again, still get the job done. And if it's something else and it pushes me or tries to kill me, then the job is done. At this point I really don't have anything left to lose.

I hesitantly reach for the hand and aim for his wrist instead, hovering over it and slowly my palm on the bottom side of his arm, shocked at the feeling of warmth and solid human skin. I wrap my fingers around his wrist and squeeze lightly.

He's real. He is truly real.

"It's you," I exhale. "It's you, you're here. You're actually here. I fou—" My voice cracks. "You found me."

I look at him right in the eye and he gives me a small, reassuring smile. "It's me."

There's a tugging of sorts that happens and I topple right onto him, wrapping my arms around his torso as he stumbles and straightens himself back up again. I encircle myself around him, pasting his own arms to his side and resting my head on his shoulder as if I'm a five year old again. He calmly shushes me and rocks his feet side to side.

And, for the first time in months, I cry.

**#**

**I cried while writing my own lame chapter how dumb is that.**

**I need to remember to save my work more often instead of just leaving an open, unsaved document on my computer all the time.**

**Anyways, Homestuck is now on hiatus, so I shall indulge in some other webcomics of my liking until then. Or I'll just reread sections some more.**

**New chapter should be up fairly soon if I'm diligent enough during this week! Unfortunately, I have Hell Week next week so writing might be a bit of a toughie. But no worries! I'll figure it out somehow.**

**Reviews are very much appreciate uvu**

**-JustStandingHere**


	35. Solam Entis, Part 5

**Hi, guys! You miss me?**

**#**

Months of not crying leads to months' worth of absolute sobbing. I don't know how long I'm latched onto him, but it's a while. He doesn't seem to mind, and just continues to shush me as my breath gradually starts to slow down and my vision begins to clear.

"Feeling better now?" the Doctor asks.

"Yeah," I say, sniffing once and nodding. "Yeah, I'm a little better."

"Good, that's...good," he says, mostly to himself. He lets go of me and I do the same, looking at me right in the eye. "Jenna, you have to realize that I—"

I take the opportunity and aim my right fist at his face. It lands right in the center of his face.

"Oh, hell!" he exclaims, turning to the side and clutching his face.

"Now I feel much, much better," I say, sniffing again and wincing at my hand. "Ow..."

He turns back to me, covering his nose. "What was that for?"

"For leaving me to jump around your timeline, you bastard!" I remind him. "Do you know what kind of shit I've gone through?"

He ignores me, twitching his nose and bringing his hand away. "I think you broke my nose!" he says, covering his face again due to that fact.

"Well good, because I was aiming for it!" I admit. I start back in my rant. "I've been on planets that were falling to pieces and almost suffocated in space. I had to listen to you tell me—!" I stop myself, realizing that I might have made a horrible mistake. I lower my voice. "Doctor, do you know who I am?"

"Wha?" he asks, retrieving a tissue from his pockets and wiping the blood from his face.

"Do you know who I am?" I repeat slowly.

"Well of course," he says with a hint of confusion in his voice. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Then who am I?" I inquire. "Tell me, who am I?"

He frowns. "Why—?"

"Just do it," I request. "Please."

He sniffs and runs the tissue under his nose again. "You're Jenna Quigley, also known as Quigs."

"More than that," I order.

He stares at me, and for a quick moment the fear catches me that he doesn't know, that he's just been looking for me blindly. That this version is the him from New York who looked at me like I was a complete stranger.

But then he speaks.

"You are Jenna Quigley," he reiterates, and it would sound serious except for the fact that his nose is plugged and his speech is all wonky. "The girl from another universe, who knows as much about me as I do and then some more. You have been gods with me and River Song, solved a case with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. You have a horrible, _horrible _mouth on you and are never not seeking an opportunity to irritate me." He pauses. "And you are one of my greatest friends."

I feel like I should be flattered, but I'm too pumped with adrenaline and angry to care. But I sigh in relief anyways.

"Good," I exhale. "That's good."

The Doctor frowns and I guess it's supposed to look serious but he's also got a couple tissues stuffed up his nostrils.

"Jenna, why do ask?" he wonders.

"No reason," I say. "It doesn't matter right now. What matters is all the jumping and running I had to do. The best job I got was being a god damn _maid _for two months!"

"Maid?" he repeats.

"Yeah," I say, nodding. I stand up straight and put on a sunny disposition, slipping back into my former accent. "Hello, I'm Florence. Martha's out sick, so I'll be doing her job today."

His eyes go wide. "_You?_"

I nod. "Indeed, Mr. Smith."

"So that friend you were ranting about...that was _me_?"

"Oh, thank you Captain Obvious!" I yell sarcastically. "Of course it was you!"

He hesitates. "Jenna, you know that I am dearly sorry for—"

"Give me a fucking _break_," I snarl. "I mean, how long has it been for you? A couple months? Maybe a year or two stowed away in your little phone booth?"

"...ty-nine years," he mutters after a considerable pause.

I squint. "What?"

"A hundred and fifty-nine years," he repeats, much louder this time. "It's been a hundred and fifty-nine years since I last saw you, give or take a couple of months. I don't keep track of those very well."

"...that long?" I ask. He nods.

He takes out the tissues and grimaces at them. "Oh, I hate the sight of blood. Especially mine, that's never pleasant." He sniffs again and stuffs the tissues into his pocket.

My train of thought inches further along the tracks. "Did you even search for me?" I ask.

"I did search for you," he informs. "For four years, actually! Went traveling around, scoping out the area to try and find you, but I never saw you!"

"You've got a big timeline," I point out. "I was hopping from one point to another, mostly on completely opposite spectrums. I've seen all your faces, even heard your voice a couple of times." I pause. "Though, most of the time that happens it wasn't _actually _you, it was...another you that wasn't you. A you that I kind of...made...up." I laugh a bit. "Funny, that."

The Doctor stares at me. "Jenna, how long have you been living like this?"

I want to say a year on the dot but it just kind of seems unnecessary now. It's insignificant; he had a hundred and fifty-nine years all alone, what's a single twelve month period to him? And if it's shorter, it's better. He doesn't worry, he doesn't ask questions. And I can be left in peace.

"Four months," I lie. "Give or take a couple of days." I smile, but it's crooked and only exposes half of my teeth. "I don't keep track of those very well."

"Four months on your own..."

"It's not that much, I know."

"Yes, to me, but to you that's...that's birthdays, holidays...that's _time_ wasted, and not time wasted because of something worthwhile, it's time wasted because of _me_."

"Yeah," I agree. "I guess it is."

"Well no wonder you started hallucinating," he says, mostly talking to himself again. "Isolation from the rest of the universe, constantly being pulled through time, anyone would've gone bonkers—"

"_I didn't go bonkers_," I argue. "I did something any perfectly sane person would do in my situation!" I take a step closer. "And it wasn't a hallucination, it was a friend."

"Oh, so you _do_ consider me as a friend still, that's good."

"Of course I do, you moron!" I reassure aggressively, going up and smacking the side of his head. "And it _wasn't_ you."

"You mistook me for whatever _it _was, I think that is proof enough," he says, still managing to put on a smug expression while rubbing the side of skull. "Am I just going to get beaten up every time I do something wrong?"

"Oh yeah, you are," I tell him. "And he wasn't, I'm telling you. Yeah, he was arrogant and a smart-ass all the time and in that respect he was like you, but he didn't look like you at all and he had a habit of breaking his own fourth wall _repeatedly_. That's not you, that's a...that's a faint trace. Not everything is about you, you realize that."

"Actually, about 79% of things are usually about me," he boasts, straightening out his jacket. "Anyway, pish posh. It's time to set these things aside! Right or wrong, the fact that the hallucination was me or it wasn't, all that. We have more important things to discuss, and I don't thing being on top of a building is going to settle either of our nerves, especially mine."

"What, afraid of heights?" I ask.

"No, no," the Doctor denies warily, inching towards the edge of the roof and looking over. He gulps. "Just a fear of falling. And dying."

I frown, looking over the edge with him. It's still frightening, but my phobia has gradually reduced over the past year. After all, there are much worse things out there than a platform elevated more than fifteen feet above the ground.

"Funny," I comment. "You weren't very afraid of heights before."

"Things change over time," he explains. "Events happen, experiences." He glances at me. "Nothing's set in stone; it's more of put on a wad of wet clay as a first draft."

The anger begins to fade away. I've said all I wanted to say. I haven't hit him enough, but there'll be time for that later. Now I'm just beginning to feel a little guilty.

"Let's go," I decide. "You're right; being up here is making me uneasy."

We retract from the edge and make our way down the fire escape. The Doctor keeps close. I think he still worries I'm going to jump from one of the ladders. Which, though still present in my mind, isn't as prevalent as it was before.

I land on the ground first and he hops from the ladder right after me.

I look around. "So where's the TARDIS at?" I ask.

"A couple streets away, near a bakery," he tells me. "Got good Danishes, maybe we'll go grab some."

"I'm not too hungry," I say, though in truth even thinking about food is making my stomach growl and churn at the same time.

He looks at me. "You're lying."

I frown. "I'm not. I'm just simply...not hungry."

"Quigs, you may have learned how to fool others but it's going to take a lot more than that to get past me."

I wouldn't be so sure. "Oh, you think you know everything."

"I do know everything." He tugs on his bow tie a little.

"Oh do you?"

"I'm a time traveler who's been around for over 1000 years and once had brunch with Edgar Allan Poe in an aviary," he brags. "It's in the job description."

We start walking along the street. It's an open road, but it's fairly abandoned.

"Do you know when this is?" I ask. "It's Detroit, but Detroit's much...noisier than this. And it's borderline quiet."

"The year 2067," the Doctor answers. "Major fad sweeps the nation: living in the country. Cities lose a third of their population, in some places they're almost completely abandoned."

I nod and look around a bit more before a question itches the back of my mind. "How did you find me?" I ask. "You searched for a couple years they you gave up, so how did you know I was here?"

"I didn't," he admits. "The TARDIS did. I was _aiming _for the Sericium Galaxy, but I landed here instead."

"So, naturally you decided to go see what was wrong," I assume. "Still an adrenaline junkie."

"Still a big meany," he grumbles. I giggle a little, and start laughing nonstop.

"What?" he asks. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," I say, still laughing. "No, you said everything perfect." I sigh. "God, I haven't laughed that much in a long time."

He smiles. "Well, at least you're laughing now," he says. He pats my back. "Now come along. We're getting you fed."

"I said I'm not hungry," I remind him.

"When was the last time you ate?" he inquires.

I hesitate. Two days isn't a good answer, is it?

I pause too long, and he takes that as his cue.

"Thought so," he mutters. "_You_ are going to eat something. Anything, even the foulest tasting dish in the nearest cosmos if possible until you're full."

"Why?" I whine.

"You're a walking corpse!" he defends.

"Look who's talking."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You are practically a stick with limbs!" I fire back.

"Am not." He puffs out his chest and dusts off his jacket. "I prefer the term 'wiry', thank you very much."

"Same thing," I argue.

"No, 'wiry' is a healthy description. 'Starving cadaver, on the other hand—"

"Well excuse me for not wanting a full stomach when I was going to leap off of a roof!" I interrupt. "It's a bit of a nerve-wracking thing to do!"

He stops completely, and his eyes reflect the amount of dread that somebody who was about to be hit by a train would have. I'm quickly brought back to the gravity of the situation. I just tried to kill myself. And we'd forgotten that for two minutes until I brought it back up again.

Way to go, Jenna.

"Too soon?" I ask.

He nods and quickly changes the stomach, clapping his hands together and grinning. "So, anyways, _you_ are eating. That needs to happen."

"The idea of even a brownie makes me want to puke," I say. "I'm at that stage of hunger where anything is going to make me vomit, even pastry."

"So you _are _hungry," he figured out, grinning in his own pride.

I hit his arm. "Shut up. And fine, yes I'm hungry. Doesn't mean I want to stuff food down my throat, much less have you force me to."

He makes a sharp turn right and I follow him, ending up in a place that smells like rising yeast and frosting. God damn it.

"How about a compromise?" the Doctor suggests. He walks up to the front counter and scans the menu before turning his attention to the woman at the cash register. "Um...two lemon-jelly Danishes and one chocolate donut with blue sprinkles, please. Love sprinkles."

The cashier sighs. "That'll be fourteen points."

He shoves his hand into his left pocket, squinting his right eye in concentration. He comes up with a web of bills. "Erm...do you take the new French euro?"

"Compromise?" I ask.

He turns to me. "Yes, a compromise," he reiterates. He concentrates back on the woman at the desk. "So do you take them?"

"Anything that's money'll do," the cashier tells him. The Doctor hands her a wad of colored bills and she adds them up. "Thank you. Go take a seat, your food will be ready in just a couple minutes."

He smiles, nods, and twirls around, scanning the room until he points at a table and follows his finger to his seat. It's funny, seeing him again. I was right, the hallucination wasn't him. It sounded like him, maybe even looked like him. But it never acted like this, like him. That's authenticity for you.

"What kind of a compromise, exactly?" I ask skeptically, walking over and sitting down in a chair.

"I ask a question," he explains. "If you answer and I know you're telling the truth, not only do you not have to eat anything but _you_ get to ask _me _a question. If, however, I find out that you're lying _or _that you keep silent instead of answering, you have to take a bite. And not some tiny, birdy bite you woman always take. No, a big bite, a sharky bite." He smiles. "Understood?"

I squint bitterly for a couple moments before sighing. "Understood," I murmur.

"Good," he comments. He looks up to the man coming towards us with plates on a tray floating a couple inches above his hand. "Ah! Our food, wonderful."

The tray glides down onto our table.

"Will there be anything else?" the man wonders.

"No," I reassure. I side eye the Doctor. "This is definitely enough."

For once the man catches on quickly. "Oh, I don't know about that," the Doctor replies. "You might get hungrier."

"That's highly unlikely."

"You never know."

"Oh, I know. I don't need anybody else telling me otherwise, either. I'm fairly self aware of what's right and wrong for me."

"Recent evidence shows otherwise."

"I have had my moments, but I don't need anybody's _pity_," I bite.

The waiter glances between us. "Okay, then," he drawls. "I'll just...go, and leave you to your business." He leans in and puts a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "And, uh, this is just my advice but I'd suggest, sir, that you appeal to your daughter's wishes. She looks pretty angry."

He scurries off into the back.

"Oi! She's not my daughter!" he protests.

"And he's not my father!" I support. "He looks like an overgrown child!"

He turns back to me, looking offended. "I do not!" he rebuts.

"Do too," I fire back.

"Do _not_!"

"You even act like one, I mean you were fighting with Rory over your nonexistent medical degree," I remind him.

He frowns. "When did that happen?"

I flush. "Oh." I grin. "Whoops. Spoilers."

The Doctor shakes his head and pushes the plate of Danishes towards me. "Never mind, come on. Eat."

"Oh no," I refuse, pushing the plate away from me. "You haven't asked me a question yet."

He glares at me before adjusting his sitting position so that he's got his arms crossed and he's leaning towards me.

"Alright," he says. "Back in New York, before you disappeared, you said something about the Silence and a prophecy regarding me. You had a task. What was it?"

"Change the timeline," I answer. "Destroy the Doctor."

"And—"

"Ah, one question per round," I interject. "And I answered it truthfully, didn't I?"

He scowls. "Fine." He takes a bite of his donut. "Hit me with your best shot."

"Did you keep your side of the promise?" I ask.

He frowns. "Come again?"

"The promise," I repeat. "You know, I keep safe and you don't take a bath in your own self-loathing."

He frowns for a moment too long before putting on a mask of recognition. "Oh! Oh yes, that promise."

I lean back, away from him. "You forgot about it," I realize.

"No, didn't forget," he confesses. "More of...put it behind the back burner, if you will."

"So...you forgot about it," I say slowly.

"I kept the thought in mind," he clarifies. "I just forgot where the thought came from. I visited places, people. Started my farewell tour, even."

I sigh. "Okay, good. As long as you kept it, that's good." I clear my throat. "Didn't want you all alone."

"Well that certainly won't happen now, eh?" He boops my nose and I scowl. "Alright, next question."

I smirk. "Fire away, I'll answer honestly and truthfully."

"Back when you were a maid, I recall you coming to my room the day before you left," he admits. "You said you were going to go looking for your friend."

"That isn't a question," I point out.

He sighs and looks down. "And you looked so...so..." Without looking up he gesticulates for the word. "_Hopeful_. What happened to that?"

The color flushes from my face. "Nothing really," I lie, looking down at my lap. "I mean, I did search. But after a bit I just kind of...gave up. So I ended up here." I look back up at him only to see him staring.

"You're lying," he states bluntly. "Eat up."

"I am not," I deny.

"I can _tell _these things, Jenna," he restates. "Now—" He slides the plate towards me. "—eat up."

I glare at him and the pastry simultaneously before picking up one of the Danishes and taking a bite out of it ruefully.

"There," I say, mouth full. I put on a fake grin. "Happy?"

He ignores me. "So," he inhales. "Why don't you tell me the truth?"

I swallow my food and set the Danish back down. "Fine," I spit out. "I _did _search, for a while. And then I got this idea to call you..."

"Go on," he orders.

I lick my lips. "Do you remember, sometime in your second regeneration, about a weird telephone conversation you had?" I wonder. "It ended fairly quickly, that was my fault. Phone died. And...and I couldn't figure out any other way to save myself, so I decided to give myself an ultimatum." I gulp again. "I gave a bit of time to try to find you, and if I didn't, I was going to use my last possible method of escape."

"And did you ever find me?" the Doctor asks.

I shake my head. "Not exactly, no. Not the right you." I straighten out my jacket. "How did you find me?"

"I already explained, the TARDIS landed here," he states.

"Yeah, but this is a big city. A big, almost empty city. You should've left."

He sighs through his nose and looks away from me again. "I did," he admits. "Almost did. But the TARDIS alerted me that there was something important going on."

Aw, she does care about me, the old soft—ow! Hey, stop that. I thought we were friends now.

Apparently that's not the case, then.

"And so you..." I drag on, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

"And so I ran some scans," he completes. "Little precautions, just in case. And everything seemed perfectly normal, until you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Thought you were special before—"

"I never did."

"You _should_. But_ if _you thought you were special before, now you're absolutely and completely one of a kind." He takes another bite of the donut. "Which you are. Everybody is, but_ you_, you are a temporal diamond that glistens and lights up like a firecracker whenever you arrive somewhere, and just as quickly fades out." He smiles. "The rare and wonderful Jenna Quigley."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," I tell him, but I smile anyway. "So, continue. You're not done yet."

"The scans picked up that glisten," he goes on, as if I said nothing. "And I traced it to that building. I thought it might be a wormhole or something of the lot. Something interesting. But then I saw you."

"So first I was a diamond and now I'm uninteresting," I review. "You need to work on not having contradictions, mister."

"No, no! What I _mean_ to say was...I saw you. Standing there, on the edge. And it wasn't interesting; it was...it was...it was a whole bunch of things." He leans back, throwing his hands around the copy his thoughts. "It was happy, it was frightening. Joyful, panic-inducing." He lowers his voice a little. "Nostalgic."

I don't say anything; just wait for him to continue. And he does.

"You can imagine that after saving you from jumping off of a building once I'd have the impulse to do it again." He laughs at a little at his own joke. "So I did. And I ran, as fast as I could. And in time, too." He jumps back to leaning towards me again. "So let's go back to you now that I'm all said and done. How about that?"

"Perfectly okay with me," I reply.

He takes a moment, smiling a bit before leaning back yet again, crossing his legs and folding his hands on top of them. He looks like a therapist.

"How are you?" he asks.

I take that back. He is a therapist.

I keep the smirk but make my eyes frown. "What?" I ask.

"How are you doing? How are you feeling?" he clarifies.

"That's more than one question," I say, trying to weasel out of answering.

"Then pick one."

I stare at him, confused, before answering.

"I'm fine," I tell him as a reflex. "Slightly bewildered, but fine."

"You tried to kill yourself less than twenty minutes ago and you're telling me that you are okay," the Doctor evaluates. "Eat up."

I sigh and take a bite, but before I can set the thing down he stops me.

"Oh no," he says, lifting the Danish back up to my mouth.

I sputter and push it away. "What? I took a bite."

"Yes, you did. However, you told me that you were fine, and that's the biggest lie in the universe." He picks up his donut and takes another bite, talking with his mouth full. "I think that constitutes you to eat all of it."

**#**

"Home sweet home!" the Doctor boasts and he pushes open the doors to the TARDIS. Everything's the same; the warm colors, the stairs, the little doo dads and thingies sprawled all over the dashboard. It evens smells the same, like petrichor and metal. I had forgotten what it looked like for the longest time and my time in Farringham had left Ten's console room imprinted in my mind. Seeing it again is like rewatching the fifth series' premiere in a way, if you think about it.

Huh, you know in all this time I'd somehow lost track of the fact that a little over a year ago this was just a television show.

The Doctor walks ahead of me while I stay at the threshold, hesitant to come inside.

He walks up the stairs and twirls around to face me. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

I look up from my feet. "You're 1102 years old, yeah?"

He nods. "Yes."

"And you know who I am?"

"Yes, yes!" he says, sounding exasperated.

"You're sure?"

"Abso-positively positive. What's with the sudden hesitance?"

"It's just...once I set foot in here it's the end of the line," I explain. "And if I've got the wrong you, or a copy of you, then I'm done for. No possibility to hopping around to search for you again." I laugh. "And I know this is the right you, but...you've got to be cautious, you know? When traveling with you."

He hops down the stairs and walks up to me so that he can cup my face in his hands, making me look at him straight in the eye. "Jenna, I am 100% real. Sometimes I'm a little less than that, but right now I am me. I know you, I remember everything we've done."

I gulp. "How can I know you're telling the truth?"

"You don't," he admits. "But you just have to trust me, got it?" He removes his hands from my face and places them on my upper arms. "Now, come on. Just one step."

I look down at my shoes. I traded out the Converse a while ago, the third month in. Now they're simple boots I was able to knick from somebody back in Vermont. Still ripped up around the sides, worn along the heel and the toe. The rubber bottom is close to being nonexistent in some areas. I flex my toes a little inside and they squeak.

"I don't trust you," I state simply. I look back up at him, and he looks like a wounded dog. "I don't. But I do trust my instincts, and this feels right. Really right, and I think that's enough to go on."

I lift my foot and plant it firmly on the metal floor of the TARDIS. The boot squeaks a little.

I grin. "Geronimo."

He smiles back. "That's my line." He turns around and goes back up to the console, skipping every other step until he lands with both feet on the top of the staircase. I follow behind him.

"So what do we do now?" I ask as he pilots. "Sing? Travel?"

"The traveling is a negative," he tells me. "You've traveled enough recently as far as I'm concerned. You need a break." I pulls down on of the levers. "The singing, however—"

"No," I decline. "That was a _joke_, Doctor."

He glances at me. "No need to be condescending."

"I have every right to be condescending."

"Still got that lip, don't you? Well, it's nice to know some things never change. Unlike your voice."

I frown. "What's wrong with my voice?"

"It's different. Not very...American. And it's scratchy."

"Well you try pretending to be an English maid without gaining an accent," I defend. "And I just ate two Danishes without any water. I'm _thirsty_."

"Thirsty, shmirsty," he dismisses. The room jumps, and we're off. He turns back to me with a mild grin. "First things first, we need to get you cleaned up. When was the last time you showered?" He sniffs the air. "Two weeks ago?"

"One and a half," I correct.

"Right, so you'll just make a quick stop in one of the bathrooms," he plans. "And then the wardrobe as well. That coat needs to go."

"Oh, the man in suspenders is giving me fashion advice," I snap.

"You've had it on you for four months straight and it has obviously—" He grabs a tear on my shoulder between two fingers. "—seen better days. Better to just put it into the garbage chute now."

"It carries sentimental value," I explain, pushing him away from me. "Sue me for keeping it."

"It's time is up," the Doctor argues. "And I don't think holding onto that particular memory will do the both of us any good."

I sigh and turn, starting to slip it off when I glance at my wrist, all scarred and a web of white tissue and untouched flesh. I quickly slip the cost back on.

"I'll take it off later," I decide. "When I shower. It's best to dump the whole outfit at once, you know?"

He nods. "Whatever works best for you, I suppose. Now, off you pop. Go make yourself squeaky-clean."

I salute. "Aye aye, cap'n."

"And when you're done I want you to come back," he adds, returning to his piloting. "I have some questions for you."

I frown. "I thought we were done asking questions."

"I am never done asking questions, never will be." He keeps his eyes on the console before looking back up at me. "And the day I am will be the day I'm done for."

I walk up the stairs leading to the hallway. No more jumping, no more guessing where I'm going to end up next. No sleeping in parks or eating half-good leftovers thrown out in the trash can. No prophecy to worry about, no possibility of changing his timeline. I'm free, truly free and I've made my decision to stay here. The Doctor remembers me, knows me. Nothing to worry about now, I'm perfectly safe and sound.

The worst part's over.

Right?

**#**

**There is more to come, trust me! I plan on another couple of chapters revolving around Jenna adjusting to life back onboard and such.**

**In other news, Homestuck is still on hiatus and the paywall for Dangan Ronpa is back up again. Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS was brilliant, though, albeit frustrating.**

**I loved all the reviews I got for the previous chapter, thank you so much! You guys rock!**

**Reviews are still very appreciated.**

**-JustStandingHere**


	36. Suturis, Part 1

**Did you hear about the DVD link? Apparently, the BBC accidentally released series 7.2 early, with the finale included in it. I've heard that people have been getting spoiled and I think it's a terrible thing. If you are one of the people who have received the 7.2 DVD I beg of you to not spoil anybody or gif any of the episode until it is broadcast. I am one of the many people to plan to watch it on the television and don't want to get spoiled.**

**On that note, on with the next chapter!**

**#**

Alright, we're almost caught up, I think. And I'm going to try to do this quickly, or else we'll be in this perpetual state of never being current. And that could be very bad. I mean what if one day something happens to me and my last words are "I'm going to grab a sandwich, maybe go chat with the Doctor a bit. See you later."?

Not very good last words, I'm afraid.

I used to be afraid of death, I remember. I guess I still am, why else would I continue to run away from things trying to kill me? So, I'm still afraid of death, but I'm just not…intimidated by it? Yeah, I think that's the right phrase. It isn't a huge black robed figure that points at gravestones and spreads like a virus. It's just a simple thing.

I'm getting off track again.

I've been here an approximated 4-5 weeks. Time's funny here. Even the room full of clocks is confusing, using different measurements of time and different time zones. It's even got a working sundial, somehow. But after twenty minutes of concentration and recollection I'd say that I'm somewhere in the middle of week four.

So, video entries are going to be separated by weeks. No cliffhangers, no moments of dramatic influence, just a log of what happened week by week. Got it? Good.

Let's get this shit started.

**Log: Week One**

My bare feet traipse through the gray halls of the TARDIS. They're still the same, even after a century and half's worth of time. Still nice and clean, still cold and humming with energy. Nothing has changed too much, not even the rooms. The pool is still gigantic, and so is the dojo along with it. The library is still tall and elaborate. The books and bottles and the cabinets are all still arranged in their order, most untouched. And I still don't have a bedroom, it seems.

I turn a corner aimlessly and walk straight into a door.

I rub my forehead. "Shit," I seethe. "That's going to leave a bruise." I look up at the door before me. "What's this, huh? Are we back to the jokes?"

The TARDIS hums impatiently.

"What, you want me to go in there?" I ask. I frown. "What's inside?"

Another louder, more frustrated hum vibrates through the corridor.

"Alright, alright," I comply. "Quit your bitchin', I'm going."

I press my hand on the wall and the door slides away with a small whirring sound. I take a step in.

"Whoa," I exhale. I laugh. "No way."

It's a room. Not just a regular room, but a large room with stone walls that smells like an antique shop. There are bits and baubles thrown haplessly around the place, some of which I recognize.

"What is this place?" I ask. "Some kind of...storage shed?"

The place vibrates with approval.

I take a couple more steps inside and look around. On the shelves lined up next to me. They're covered mostly in boxes and papers, but there are solid, distinct objects sprinkled here and there. I walk up to the shelf and inspect it, picking up a thin piece of paper.

"A receipt for a fish and chips place?" I read aloud. I set the paper back down and look from side to side on the shelf, grabbing something that catches my eye. "A military cap. Huh." It looks important, like it would belong to a general or something. I put it back.

I turn around and place my attention on the opposite shelf, snatching the looking glass and holding up to my eye, spying through it.

"Why'd you bring me here?" I ask.

The TARDIS hums again, but it isn't an omniscient sort of thing; it's originating from somewhere. I follow to the origin, a dusty place in the back of the room that's much mustier than the more open, front area of the room. Here, things are crowded together, almost like a dusty mosaic.

I cough a little. "What's in here?"

The humming returns, coming from a haphazard pile of things tossed against the wall. It's strongest at the base of the pyramid.

I start digging through the assortment, tucking a loose strand of wet hair behind my ear only to have it fall back over my face again. I really should've cut it better when I did. I mean, the whole point of cutting it what so that it didn't get in my face like this. Maybe the Doctor can take me to a Supercuts later.

I continue digging until a small silver padlock catches my eyes. I reach for it and pull out my messenger bag, dirty and covered in layers of dust and grime.

I open up the bag and see a mix match of all my things crammed inside, like whoever put them in the pouch last was in a hurry. I pull out the various items inside, including my laptop and a few notebooks. There are a couple other things that I recognize.

"My hat," I realize, brushing the thing off and placing it atop my head. I look around, then shove all of the objects back into the messenger bag, slinging it over my shoulder. I stand up and brush off my sweatpants, tugging on the sleeves of the shirt I'm wearing so that they reach halfway down my hands.

Time to go talk to the Doctor.

**#**

He's piloting still, his back turned to me, flipping switches and tapping the time rotor here and there for some reason.

I don't think he notices me until he speaks. "How does it feel to be squeaky clean?" he asks.

"Oh, amazing," I tell him, padding down the stairs and onto the glass floor. "It's nice having hot water again. All the pool showers were like getting doused in the Arctic Ocean."

"Pool showers are the worst showers," he comments. "Would not recommend ever again."

"I had to choice," I remind him. "I know how gross and bad they are."

"Well, now you have a choice," he argues. "And that choice is no more pool showers."

"Don't have to make that decision for me, I already made it." I walk up to the console as he taps on the rotor again. "Whatcha doing there?"

"The rotor's not moving as fast as usual," he explains, looking at it with extreme concentration. "Might just need an oiling. After all, it's been running without heed for so long, maybe it needs a sprucing up."

"Possibly," I say, peering over his shoulder.

He looks back to me, then down at my bag. He frowns, turning around. I back up. "Where did you find that?" he asks slowly.

I shrug. "A room."

"What room?"

"The room with all the papers and boxes and shit. You need a maid, mister."

He goes wide eyed. "The room with the boxes…"

I nod. "Yeah, it was a storage room or something," I continue. "Filled with things all over the place. I found the bag in the back." I frown. "What was that place, anyways?"

The Doctor gulps. "Well…you see…um…I keep things. Mementos, really."

"Mementos?"

"Of companions; of…me." He flushes and straightens his bow tie.

I smirk. "Why so embarrassed?"

"I'm not embarrassed," he denies. "I'm just disappointed. That was one of _my_ rooms."

I snort. "Your rooms? Aren't they all your rooms?"

"Of course they are, but a few select rooms are _mine_, nobody else's. Nobody sees them. And the memento room is—was one of them."

"Oh," I realize. "Well, I'm not going back in there anymore. Too dirty."

"What? The memento room, dirty?" He laughs. "Preposterous. I went in there and cleaned it."

"And how long ago was that?" I inquire.

He falters. "Seven, maybe…twelve years ago."

"Well, that explains the dust," I say, swiping my hand over the messenger bag and watching the cloud of gray bunnies erupt from the cloth. I look back up to him. "So, you said you had some questions?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. Firstly, did you sack the coat?"

I pull out the thing from my messenger bag. "I don't want to see it go," I explain. "I mean, it's been with me all this time, ever since the start."

"There's a time for memories and a time to let go," the Doctor advises. "Now, let's throw out the old thing."

I frown and hug the jacket defensively. "It's my decision on whether or not I do it, not yours."

He huffs. "My TARDIS, my rules."

I cross my arms. "Then I'll just leave your TARDIS."

"But you just got back!"

"Not everything revolves around you and your tiny little world you've got."

"It so does!"

"Doesn't."

He scowls and starts pacing around the console. "Oh, what do you know?"

I sigh. "And there it is," I analyze. "The denial of defeat by avoiding the subject." I drop the coat and messenger bag on the chair and start to follow him. "You know you are _really_ easy to predict. Like how you're about to flip a switch to distract yourself."

He does just that. "It's necessary in the flight pattern," he grumbles.

"And you're acting like a _kid_," I continue. "Throwing a silent tantrum like a passive aggressive three year-old."

"I am _not_ acting like passive aggressive three year-old," he denies. He glances at the monitor.

"Sure…"

"You know, maybe _some people_ should accept the rules and not be stupid," he argues.

I scoff, stopping. "Hell will freeze over the day I accept any rules from you."

He stops and looks at me before grinning. "Good."

I shake my head. "You're ridiculous."

"I am. And?"

"And there are questions you had, right? That _don't _pertain to coats?"

"Yes!" he answers, still grinning. He claps his hands. "Yes, there are questions. Loads of questions."

I raise an eyebrow. "Planning on asking them anytime soon?"

He's silent for a moment. "How are you?"

I frown. "I thought that was already asked back at the bakery."

"Yes, but that was a lie," he clarifies. "I want the truth."

I stare at him for a couple seconds before sighing. "I'm…well, I'm not okay. I mean it was a while, that I was all alone. And I've seen things…heard things. On my first day solo I was almost a lab experiment." I laugh a little. "Popped out just in time."

He stares at me, and I take that as a sign to keep talking.

"I'm just kind of-I don't know-conflicted," I continue. "I'm feeling all these things at once. On one hand I'm happy and excited because I found you and I don't have to jump around anymore or worry about messing up your timeline." He smiles at that. "And on the other hand I'm downright furious at myself and even more so you." The smiles drops. "After all, _you're _the reason why I ended up like that, but I'm the one who jumped off of the building in the first place. And it's because of my very _existence_ that this happened, you know? But it could've been simpler if I was just left being dead."

"Yes," he says quietly. "Yes, it could've been."

I blink. "You're agreeing with me? What happened to 'at least you're living' or 'look on the bright side'?"

"One hundred and fifty-nine years," he repeats. "A lot of time to think, to reflect. Somewhere around the second year searching for you I realized my mistake."

"You seemed fairly stubborn on your opinions when we last chatted here," I say.

"Opinions change. And this around, I agree with you. In retrospect, I was..." He mumbles the last word.

I want to smile, but the temptation to soak in the moment is too much. "I'm sorry, you were what?"

"I was..." Another mumble.

"Ha, sorry," I apologize. "Kind of hard of hearing at the moment. Could you repeat that just a little louder?"

"I was _wrong_," he finally admits. "Happy?"

"I'm less angry," I confess. "If that helps."

"Of course it does, you have every right to be angry." He smiles at me sadly. "You've been through a lot, for somebody your age. A tough time, but you'll get past it. People like you always do."

"People like me?"

"The people I choose."

"I stowed away, idiot. Not everything comes down to you."

"And I kept you here, didn't I? Then again, I didn't have much of a choice. If I tried to force you out you would've gone kicking screaming." He winces. "Probably biting as well."

I smirk, considering the idea and wanting to laugh because it's true. "So.." I shift my weight around on the balls of my feet. "Any more questions" Because I've had a long, _long _day and I'm in the mood to sleep."

"Questions, questions. Yes, one more question," he answers. "Or many more, depends. Conversation's funny like that." He stops in front of me, leaning on the railing and crossing his arms. "Tell me, Quigs. What do you know about the Silence?"

"Some facts here and there," I admit. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, some time around year three I decided to look into things," he explains. "Because if there is one thing I remember from the night you were misplaced, it's that prophecy you mentioned. I thought that maybe it would help take care of some things while searching for you."

"Kill two birds with one stone."

"Exactly!" He launches off of the railing and grabs the monitor, pulling it over and typing something into the typewriter. "So I searched the TARDIS database and pulled up..." He types in a couple more words and slammed his hand onto the 'enter' key. "This."

Words start rolling onto the screen until the monitor is covered in tiny cerulean letters. I walk up to the monitor and squint, trying to make out the words.

"The Silence are aliens from an unknown planet..." I read aloud. I skim the next couple of paragraphs, coming to the realization that the entire page on screen in extremely familiar. I laugh. "Oh, you've got to be shitting me."

The Doctor frowns. "Pardon?"

I start laughing even harder, putting a hand over my eyes. Brilliant, just brilliant. Figures this would happen at a time like this, with all that's been going on. It still goes back to that.

"Jenna, are you alright?" he asks. He seizes the monitor. "Is there a typo? Oh, what am I saying, the TARDIS doesn't make typos."

"No," I say, still laughing. "No...no that's not it."

"Then what is it?" he inquires.

The laughing gradually fades and stand up straight, eyes watery. I wipe them with the back of my hand. "It's just..." I giggle. "Just...back at Farringham, with you MIA and everything, I didn't have much to do. I mean, I couldn't interact with you too much or do _anything_, really. And I felt kind of useless. But then I came up with this idea. Well, not _me_, exactly. The, uh, the voice in my head." He looks at me, concerned. I flush. "Which, if you think about it, is actually me. So I came up with this idea. I mean, I had a key and nothing to do, so why not?"

"Jenna, what did you do?"

I grin lopsidedly in pride. "Well, you said I couldn't walk inside the TARDIS, but there was never anything against opening the doors," I continue, shrugging. "And I needed information. I had just as many questions as you had, maybe even more. So, the interface and I chatted a bit and I was able to get her to fish for some answers for me." I tap the monitor. "Which stayed exactly where they were, thanks to the fact that you don't delete your internet history."

He grins at me. "Oh, Jenna. Brilliant Jenna, amazing Jenna." He rubs the top of my head. "Wonderful, brilliant, amazing Jenna."

I slip out from under him. "Alright, no more noogies."

"You are _fantastic_," he compliments. "Of course, the idea was extremely risky and idiotic in retrospect, but look at you! Solving things on your own, doing your own thing."

I knit my eyebrows together, but keep smiling. "I was already doing that a for awhile."

"Yes, but this is just...I never expected this, and I always expect things. Oh, Jenna Quigley, you are one smart cookie."

"Am I?" I ask. "Funny, you were just calling me stupid earlier."

"It is quite possible to be both stupid and smart at the same time."

"Oh yeah, I'd almost forgotten. I mean, that's what you are all the time."

"Oi!"

I smirk. "Like having me back?" I ask mockingly.

He scowls at me. "Having doubts, but doubts are good to have." He shuts off the monitor. "So you know everything?"

I nod. "Everything."

"Great," he says, rubbing his hands together. A whirring noise rises around the room and he springs into action, tinkering until the cacophony dies down. "That's great. Good. We mutually understand, mutually ignore. Cool."

I frown. "Wait, mutually ignore? So you just want to forget all about it?"

"Not _forget_, per se. Just put off for a bit."

"Why put off?" I question, leaning against the console with the palms of my hands. "I mean, you and I both know about it, the exact same things. There's no reason to _not_ talk about it."

He stops piloting, looking at me through the time rotor. "You've just gotten back," he explains. "This is supposed to be a happy time, a time to rebuild and recover. And since it so, talking about things like prophecies and Cages and Silence aren't going to help, don't you think?"

I gulp. "No. No, I guess not."

He smiles. "Now, you said you were tired?"

I yawn. "Just a bit."

He fiddles with a couple things on the console. "Walk up the stairs, and there should be a nice bedroom three doors down on the left." He continues fiddling and his hand slips on a switch. "Er...make that the right."

I laugh. "Moron."

"Irritating."

I walk up the stairs. "See you in eight hours, more or less."

**#**

_The wind is howling against my ears. It's harsh and pushing up against my back, threatening to throw me off balance. I grit my teeth until they ache, trying to carefully keep my stance. I attempt to move my feet and regain some better balance, but there's stuck to the ground. I can't move._

_Before me is a concrete rooftop, practically barren. The rusty ladder leading down the fire escape is visible to my left, and excluding the wind he air around me is silent. No talking or cars or airplanes. Just...silence._

My, my. You're quite the one to stall, aren't you?

_My eyes snap over to my right. It's no longer a vague mist or ghost, no. It's a person. It's a person with hair and clothes and limbs and eyes and feet touching the ground, moving and pacing madly. It's no longer an idea. It's him._

_"What are you doing?" I ask. "What's going on?"_

Don't you remember, Jenna? You were about to jump. Fulfill the pact we made. He failed, and now it's your turn to keep the promise.

_"But...but he saved me," I argue. "I remember, I got it right. He pulled me away. I stepped inside the TARDIS, I'm done with this. I finished."_

And how reliable are memories? They're all...finagled inside of each other, mixing up and creating new thoughts that never were. They're liars, memories.

_"But he saved me! He did, I know it!"_

They're dreams, Jenna. Simple dreams. Now come on, we have things to do. Places to see, selves to kill. Chop, chop!

_"You never wanted me to kill myself before," I observe. "You were against it."_

Ah, but people change! Figments of people, too. And I'm ready for you to go, I really am. Such a damper to be in your head.

_My breathing becomes uneven. "He'll come for me, he always does. He'll find me, this is just a dream. He'll find or I'll wake up."_

You're so sure it's a dream? Tell me, does this look like a dream to you? Does it feel like it? _He grins. _Feels pretty normal, doesn't it? Now, I don't blame you for going completely mad, you already were halfway bonkers. But escaping into the idea that you've been saved is useless. You can't run from the truth, Jenna.

_"I'm not running," I state through gritted teeth. "This isn't real."_

Oh, it's real, Quigs. _Very _real.

_I gulp. "And if it is? I could step down right now if I wanted to."_

No, nope! Sorry, no can do.

_"Why not?"_

I'm not going to allow it.

_"You can't tell me I can and can't do."_

_He rolls his eyes in exasperation. _Oh, Jenna, you don't get it. _I am you! _I'm sick of living in your head day in and day out. And you're going to die whether you like it or not.

_"No, he's going to save me. The Doctor always does, he'll save me." I'm beginning to shake._

Then look around. _He gestures to the rooftop before us. _Where is he now, eh?

_"He'll be here, he will be," I protest._

_He tuts, shaking his head. _Oh, Quigs. You have so much faith in him-me-him. It's pathetic.

_"He going to be here, he'll save me."_

Jenna. _He looks me straight in the eyes, putting both hands on my shoulders. They're solid, not a pulse of nonexistent warmth. It's real._ He is never going to save you. In the end, the Doctor will never, ever save you.

_I keep silent, afraid to say anything more._

_He looks down at his watch, smiling._ Oh, will you look at that. Time to die. _His grip on my shoulders tightens. _See you later.

_And he shoves._

_And I'm falling. Falling falling falling falling falling-_

Awake. My eyes are open. It's dark. Where am I?_  
_

My face is wet. I've been sweating and crying. Still crying, actually. Why, though?

_Falling falling falling-_

It's pathetic...He is never going to save you...

_It's real._

I start to hyperventilate as the dream replays before me, and halfway through it I realize that all this time I've been screaming and choking on my own voice simultaneously.

And as the replay finishes I sit up and begin to sob even more, my voice cracking as I cry for somebody, anybody. As long as they're real, and I can that the dream wasn't. Because it truly wasn't...right?

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I jump, scrambling away from the dark figure standing in front of me. It's him.

"Get away from me!" I order. "Get away, I don't want to listen to you, he's going to save me, I won't have to...have to..." The sobs start all over again.

"Jenna, it's going to be fine," he soothes. "You need to calm down."

"No, stop talking, He's going to be here. The Doctor's going to be here. He'll save me, I won't have to jump."

"What?" he asks. "Jenna, what are you talking about?"

"What you said, you said he was never going to save me," I explain. "You said I'm pathetic, you said those things and you were _real_ so they must be true, he must think that, right?"

The figure pauses, reading my face and deciphering my words until his face becomes one of complete disappointment. And, for some reason, it doesn't look like it's aimed towards me. "Oh, Jenna," the figure whispers. "I am so sorry."

"You're not, you looked too happy to be," I argue.

"Jenna, that was a dream," he says. "This is reality."

"That's what he said," I retort. "And he felt real, it all did. He pushed me. And I was falling, falling..."

"Jenna, look at me," the figure orders. There's a whirring noise and the lights are on. His face his clear and in sight, and it mirrors what I just saw not a couple minutes ago. "I'm the real one, I never pushed you. That's all in your head."

My breathing evens out slightly. "Prove it," I request with a cracked voice.

He holds out the sonic. "Did your friend ever have a screwdriver?"

I stare at the thing, flipping through all my memories, one after the other. "No, no he didn't."

"Exactly. Jenna, I am real."

I keep looking at the sonic for just a couple more seconds before looking up a his face. It's sincere, no trickery or hidden scowling. If he's anything else, he's terrified.

I launch towards him and latch around his chest, because fuck it; he reals feel and reality's getting trickier and trickier as of late.

"Oh, hugs," the Doctor says in surprise. "Hugs are cool. Much better than getting punched."

"Shut up or I will punch you," I threaten, but I'm too disoriented to make it a solid promise. "You don't think I'm pathetic, do you?"

"Now why would I think that?"

"Have you seen me lately?" I remind him. "I'm surprised that you haven't kicked me out by now."

"Jenna, you're not pathetic. You're human."

I laugh bitterly. "Thanks. That helps."

"You know what I mean," he says.

"I do," I admit. "And I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I don't mind." He pats my back and steps away. "Here, follow me."

I sniffle a little. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere new," he says. "Somewhere different."

I slide off of the cot and stand up. "I thought we weren't going to be travelling anytime soon."

"We're not," he says, skipping out of the door. I run to catch up to him. "We're staying here."

I frown. "That makes no sense."

He stops and turns around. "Transcendental technology! The ship is infinite! I bet there are some rooms even I don't know about."

"Oh, right," I say, wiping my eyes. "Duh."

"And you call me a moron," he mutters.

"Hey!" I protest.

He smiles, full of himself. "Come along!" he orders, starting to run. "Got to have some cowboys in here, somewhere."

I follow him, and somewhere between losing to him at Cluedo in the game room and discovering an infestation of piranhas in the aquarium I kind of forget that I was ever gone in the first place.

**#**

I still don't sleep, though.

Or I try not to. When I do, it's the same thing, over and over again. Falling over and over again. I don't sleep in a bedroom anymore, if I do sleep. It's here, underneath the console in the hammock. That way I don't freak out too long before somebody, sometimes even the TARDIS at times, wakes me up. It's usually a shock my arm or something. Anyways, it hurts. But it's effective.

But before I came down here, I just sort...collapsed, anywhere and everywhere. The library, the kitchen. And it's always for only a couple hours. No more, no less. I always wake up just before I fall.

The Doctor suggests a mental block, but the thing is I don't want to forget. It's a whole year of my life, I'm not going to shove it under the carpet. I'm not him.

The week passes by smoothly, if you don't count the occasional panic attack. He travels, when I fall asleep, and not for too long if possible. He comes back with souvenirs or injuries. It's one or the other or even sometimes both in some instances. I continue to get a feel around being back in action again, and continue wearing long sleeve shirts two sizes too big. Even when the cooling systems break down I keep it up.

"When are they going to be fixed?" I ask.

"In time, in time," the Doctor dismisses. He's lost the coat and shoes. He comes up from his working station underneath the glass floor and pokes his sweaty head over the railing. "And if you're going to complain I'd suggest you change first."

"What's wrong with what I have on?" I ask.

"It's suited better for the Oodsphere, that's what."

"I'm comfortable," I lie. "Just a bit...toasty."

"It is almost 35 degrees centigrade in here and you're 'just toasty'?"

I blink. "Isn't 35 degrees freezing?" I ask.

He rolls his eyes and ducks back down under the floor. "Americans."

I sneer. "Time lords."

"Fixing this up will take a couple hours, so I suggest you either get out of that stuffy thing or sit in the walk-in freezer."

I consider my options. "Do you know where the freezer is?"

It's silent for a moment before his head pops up again, fraught with concern. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," I say. "It's just that I...like this sweatshirt."

"Enough to threaten death by heat exhaustion?"

"The trials and tribulations of fashion know no bounds."

He concentrates on me for a couple more seconds before speaking. "It's in the same corridor as the garden," he tells me skeptically. "Last time I checked."

"Thanks," I say, walking up the stairs to my escape from the heat.

"Jenna," the Doctor calls when I reach the entrance to the hallway. I turn around. "You are fine?"

"As fine as I can be right now," I tell him. "See you in an hour."

**#**

He says he needs to make a stop on the sixth planet of Shafaram System for a wrench when we next talk. The heat's gone down, but only by so much. He says that the wrench is needed to replace the one he has just broken, and when he gets it he'll be able to put the cooling systems right back in order. I say fine, go ahead and go wherever you need to go. He says he'll be back in about an hour.

So I take the opportunity about five minutes after he leaves and peel off the sweatshirt that's been clinging to me for the longest time. I straighten out the tank top underneath and smile.

"Finally," I breathe out. I look down at the scars on my arm. "You guys suck."

I sigh in relief and tumble onto the chair. The coat's still hanging off of the side.

Maybe it's the heat exhaustion or maybe it's just general exhaustion, but one second I'm staring at the console and next wind is howling in my ear and he's back with new taunts.

_Pathetic..._

_Weak..._

_He doesn't even want to save you. You're too damaged, too grown up..._

_You've grown to rely on him, you've become the opposite of what you wanted. You. Are. Lifeless..._

_End yourself..._

There's a hand on my shoulder, in reality. It wakes me up and I spring into action, the reflex easily coming back to me. I grab the person's arm and twist it, getting up in a flash and aiming for what I think is the stomach.

The wrench the Doctor was holding drops.

"OW!" he grits, breathing in through his teeth. "Ah, blimey. Mother of..." His voice becomes indistinguishable and at one point I think it switches over into another language that, for some reason, I can't understand. He looks up at me. "What was that for?!"

"Sorry!" I apologize, mouth covered by my hands. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to punch you."

"Well obviously you did!" he yells back, doubling over.

"It was instinct, you shithead!" I defend, removing my hands from my mouth and bringing one of them up against his head.

"Ah!" he winces. He rubs the point of impact and then stands up straight, looking at me. "Ow!"

"Yes, and?"

"And why am I getting hit all the time this week?" he asks angrily.

"Because it's what I _do_, you're just not used to it yet!" I tell him.

"But why hit me in your _sleep_?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures!" I fire back. "It was a tough four months, always sleeping in bus stops or homeless shelters. You never knew when somebody was going to pickpocket you or doing something worse."

"I've woken you up before, why is this any different?"

"You touched my shoulders," I supply. "They always did, it was a standard thing, I guess. All of them were too drunk to balance straight anyways."

"Ah," he responds curtly. "I see. Good job, clever thing to do. Just don't practice it on me."

"I can't promise you anything," I shrug. "Just don't...surprise me. Like jump me or prank me or anything. Unless you want to get hurt."

He taps the side of his nose. "Got it."

I sigh and lift my arm to bring a hand through my hair, pushing back my poorly cut bangs. "Good."

The Doctor frowns. "Jenna, what are those?"

I frown back at him. "What are 'what'?"

"The marks," he clarifies. "On your arm, you have marks."

I go wide-eyed and stick my arm behind me. "I don't have any marks."

He nods and walks towards me. "Yes, yes you would. Lines on your arm." He reaches for the limb and I sidestep him, rotating a good 90 degrees away from him.

"I don't have any marks," I lie, laughing forcibly. "You must've gotten a concussion or something-"

"No no no, I saw them," he denies. "Now show me your arm." He reaches and I rotate again.

I flash a smile. "There's nothing on my arm to show."

"Yes, there is."

"No, there isn't."

"Show it to me!"

"Why should I?"

He reaches and I attempt to sidestep, but he ends up going behind me, grabbing the arm. I turn to face him and try to wriggle out, but it's no use.

"Haha, yes! See, marks," he observes triumphantly. I try to pull away before he actually gets a good look at them. "White lines or...scars..." He frowns in concentration, and I know that the jig is up. I stop fighting.

He looks up at me. "Jenna, where did you get these?"

"I was...in a fight," I lie.

"No, no," he dismisses, shaking his head. "These are too uniform for a fight. Were you tortured?"

"What? N-"

"Who did this to you?"

"Doctor, you've got to-"

"Jenna, you need to tell me."

"I did it!" I confess. His grip on me weakens and I pull away from him. "I...did this."

The expression on his face can be summed up as utter confusion. "Why?"

"Like I said...desperate times call or desperate measures," I explain. "I had the problem before, way back in my own universe. And I kept it off, most of the time, but it was hard. And then I stowed away here and...I don't know. I guess the adventures became my fix and I just sort of forgot about it." I gulp. "But then I was on my own again and it reappeared." I snap my my fingers. "Just like that."

"Jenna, you should've told me about this."

"One open adrenaline junkie is enough for this ship, I didn't think it would be good to have two." I look down at my arm. "I don't do it anymore, if you wondering. Haven't for a while, really. I was just kind of scared to tell you. I thought that you would see me as inadequate and you'd leave me somewhere. And now that doesn't look too bad, but back when this all started this was a new universe, you know? And I just..." I sigh through my nose and look back up at him. "Well, at least we've taken care of that and I don't have to wear sweatshirts now. Thank god, too, I really hate the things sometimes."

"Jenna, I think we should talk about this," the Doctor suggests.

"I don't," I reply. "It's done, it's over with. Not going to happen again, hopefully. And if it does, I will talk to you. But for now, I'm starving and boiling up, so how about solve those problems before they go borderline catastrophic, hm?" I pick up the wrench off of the floor and hand it to him with my scarred arm. He looks at the limb while his hand goes for the tool.

"Okay then," he mutters. "Fine by me."

The cooling systems are back online within the hour, and he tells me not to go food hunting just yet. I ask why and he doesn't answer the question, responding instead by telling me to go put on something nicer than tracksuit pants and a tank top. I start to ask why, but there's a banging noise from the time rotor and I decide to leave the Doctor to his own devices and do as he says.

I come back twenty minutes later in jeans and a t-shirt only to find him waiting by the doors. We've landed in Chicago, he tells me. He then proceeds to criticize me for bringing a coat, saying that it is winter outside. We argue about it for ten minutes before I groan and stomp back into the wardrobe for a jacket. He grins when I come back but it quickly fades when I compare him to middle-aged soccer mom.

We go out for pizza. He tells me about some of his adventures and I supply some of the happier ones of my own. He spills his drink on himself and I end up laughing until tosses a piece of pepperoni onto my face.

He keeps staring at my arm, the one that's marked up and down on its underside. And he continues to do so whenever he sees the scars, always displaying an equally confused and sad face that he's been looking at the rest of me with lately.

But we never talk about it. Still haven't. And it's better that way.

**#**

**I'm so sorry for the wait, but I just acquired a new computer that kept deleting my documents instead of saving them, so I've had to write some segments of this fic almost four times in a row.**

**Homestuck has been on hiatus for a month now and lemme tell you it's a scary thing to experience. Also, I have an essay to write, so I'll see you later.**

**Reviews are still highly appreciated!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	37. Suturis, Part 2

**Ah yes, new chapter as promised. Here you go!**

**#**

Sorry, it's been a couple of days. I had promised myself to do one every day, but…well, things got in the way. Stuff.

And by 'stuff' I mean the Doctor being a complete and total shitwad who won't treat me like an adult.

But uh—you'll find out more about that soon enough, if I'm consistent. Which I will be, if I'm lucky.

Anyways…

**Log: Week Two**

After the first week things settle into a sort of pattern. I sleep on the chair, eat breakfast, walk around the TARDIS, maybe eat lunch, walk around some more, eat dinner, and go back to sleep. It's monotonous and dull, but it's stable.

You would think that after the nightmares and the 'sleeve incident'—as I've decided to name it—that things would be a lot more comfortable. The first week's the toughest, right? Yeah, that's complete bullshit.

I mean, yeah, things are a lot better. I don't have to sweat out my weight in sweatshirts anymore, even though I do prefer them more now than I did earlier on. And even though the secret's out, I feel like I still have to hide them. Otherwise he stares at them. He looks at them, really, like they're a horrible story being covered by the evening news. He's in despair, but he can't do anything about it.

Surprisingly, with all that's gone on, he hasn't many questions. In fact, they've stopped altogether since he sleeve incident. He goes on like nothing has changed, or at least he's trying his best. Like we just returned from our Christmas celebration and we're taking a couple weeks off. And I suppose that I should be happy about this, but in all honesty I'm afraid of when he _will _begin asking questions like "What happened while you were thrown around the universe?" or observations such as "You know, you spent three months tucked away at an all-boy's school out of the apparent fourth months you were being tossed around, and yet it looks like you went through a lot more then you let on".

So, to buy myself some time, I'm the one asking the questions. Even if he doesn't like it.

"What've you got there?" I ask, peering over his shoulder to view the cylindrical object the Doctor's been tampering with.

He sits up straight in the car seat where he is residing, breaking from his concentration. "Hm? Oh, it's just the temporal accelerator. I'm fixing it."

I squint. "What's wrong with it?" I wonder.

"Nothing, actually."

"Then why are you tampering with it?"

"I'm making it faster."

I silent long enough for him to go back to his work. "But why try to fix something that isn't broken?"

He sighs and sets down the screwdriver he's been using. And yes, it is an actual screwdriver. "Because," is his answer.

I stand up straight and cross my arms. "Because. That's your final answer. Because."

"Yes," he tells me, shutting the temporal doodad closed.

"'Because' what, exactly?" I press.

He stands up, dusts himself off, and looks at me. "Because I say so, that's what," he finishes with a hint of irritation in his voice. He walks towards the stairs leading down below the glass.

I follow him, leaning over the railing. "But that makes no sense," I observe.

"You don't make sense," he says bitterly.

"Ouch, nice comeback," I mock. "Really got me, I'm going to need to sit down for a couple of minutes and rethink my life."

"No need to be so sarcastic." He walks into the tangle of wires, aiming towards the center column where there is an obvious cylinder-shaped hole.

"I just don't see the _point_," I explain. "Besides, everything you try to fix just ends up doing a complete 180 and malfunctions."

"How about you try to fix a temporal accelerator like this one," the Doctor argues. "Then you might see the point."

"I won't have to," I point out.

"And why is that?"

"It's not broken."

He glares at me through the glass before angrily pushing the device into the column. "There. Finished and running perfectly."

"For now," I add. "Give it an hour or two."

He scowled. "What do you have against me?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Other then what I know, I mean."

I shrug. "Nothing, really. I just like seeing you get irritated."  
"Why, though?" he whines.

"Because," I explain. "You're like the goofy, slightly socially inept older brother I never had."

"You said you had siblings, though."

"First born."

"Ah. So _you _were the one constantly being poked and prodded."

"Pretty much, yeah," I admit.

"You know," he says, making his way up the stairs. "That's still not a good excuse."

I frown. "Why not?"

"Being rude because others were rude to you means that they have control over you," the Doctor clarifies. "And you are stronger than that."

I consider this. "I guess that makes sense," I admit.

"So no more teasing, eh?" He looks hopeful.

"No, I'm going to keep teasing you," I tell him. "It's fun. You think it's fun, it makes us laugh. I just won't be cruel."

"Ah, see? Learning new things every day."

I smirk. "Thanks, Mr. Rogers."

"Oi, Mr. Rogers is _cool._ I learned how they make soda, you don't see that anywhere else," he checks the scanner.

"I wasn't saying he's not cool," I argue. "I loved Mr. Rogers Neighborhood as a kid." I turn around. "You know, you look like him. You know, if you gave a bow tie and took away his loafers."

He frowns. "I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult."

I shrug. "Take it as both."

He smiles and we return to silence. And, as you already know, I don't like silence.

I roll my head back. "I'm bored."

"Then go play ping pong," he suggests.

I snap my head up. "By myself?"

"It's actually very fun."

I laugh. "Sorry, I'm not in the mood to play against myself."

"Then go do teenager-y things. Text people, go on Facebook or Twitter or any of those other confounded sites," he lists off. He looks up. "Watch me, you've got a lot of catching up to do."

"Oh, no," I say, shaking my head. "No, no, no. I'm trying to _not _spoil you, remember? I mean, I guess I could watch something else, but…nah. No more TV for me."

"Not even just a little of the daily news?" he asks.

I laugh. "It's not like I watched the news before."

"I understand not wanting to watch all those other programs and things, but what about _me_? I'm interesting, I'm cool!"

"Also full of yourself."

"That," he says, pointing his finger at me briefly before returning to his piloting, "is not the point. I'm interesting, you used to think I'm interesting."

"I still think you're interesting," I admit. "But I don't want to spoil you, and you don't want to be spoiled. Simple as that."

"Well, you are obviously not enjoying yourself sitting in the console, so do something."

I look at him with disdain before walking over to the console, looking over the buttons and switches and levers with a fixed expression.

"Teach me how to fly," I request.

He stops and looks at me. "What?"

I look up at me. "The TARDIS. Teach me how to fly the TARDIS. With a machine like this I'd never be bored." I reach for a button, curious to press it.

"Ah ah ah," the Doctor says, hurrying over and slapping my hand away. "Do _not _touch any of the buttons, you send us through a black hole if you do."

I cautiously put my hands behind my back. "Well, if you teach me, I'll know which ones to press and which ones to avoid."

"I'm not going to teach you, you are going to stay away from the console and not touch anything," he denies.

"Why can't you teach me?" I ask.

"You don't have a license."

"As far as I know, neither do you."

"I actually _do _have a license, thank you very much," he says proudly. He digs a hand into one of his pockets and pulls out a crumpled, ancient-looking piece of paper. He clears his throat and starts to read it. "By the Gallifreyan High Council, we hereby give permission for _me_, the Doctor, to pilot a TARDIS."

"Okay, fine. But surely you've let other companions fly this thing. I can't be the only person who would want to drive a time machine."

He sighs. "_Yes_, there were people. But they weren't teenagers! They were adults who know what they were doing, not bumbling around and such."

The realization hits me and my mouth forms into an 'o' shape. "You don't think I can do it, can you?" I ask. "Think I'll mess up."

"No!" he denies. "No…no, well—yes."

I hit him. "I can so fly this thing, watch me." I push the button I was shoved away from and a couple others. Nothing happens. "See? I didn't mess anything up at all."

And, on cue, we're thrown to the side.

The room rumbles and I groan from being shoved into the railing. I look up, watching as the air around us trembles and bursts.

"What's going on?" I yell.

"You've sent us spiraling!" the Doctor yells.

The noise the room is making doesn't sound too healthy.

"Spiraling?" I throw back. "What do you mean by spiraling?"

"As in we're tumbling at the speed of a comet through space!" he yells.

"Can that be taken as a positive thing?"

"Not really!"

Red and blue lights start blaring.

"That's the 'everything's gone to shit' alarm, isn't it?"

"If you wanted to phrase it that way, yes!"

The room lurches again and we're hurtled towards the other side of the room, hitting the console in the process. My head slams onto one of the contraptions.

"Quigs, move! You're pressing on all the buttons!"

I groan and lift my head off of the console. "Wha'?"

"Move!"

Without thinking I take a step to the left and end up sliding back into yet another set of rails.

"Ow," I whimper weakly.

"Are you okay, Jenna?" the Doctor calls out.

"I just got slammed into a fucking wall, what the hell do you think?" I retort.

"If I've got the timing between lurches right, I should be able to pilot us back into a straight line!" he shouts. "I'll give you a heads up so that you can catch yourself!"

I nod and turn around so that I'm lying on my back. I clutch my stomach, wincing has I apply pressure to some of my ribs in the process. That can't be good.

He continues piloting on the panels he can reach before the ship makes another laborious moan and his eyes go wide.

"Jenna!" he yells. "Prepare yourse—woah!"

The room heaves again and I brace myself for impact, catching myself with one hand and falling through the rail with the other. I twist around up and watch as the Doctor pulls himself up and continues piloting to the best of his ability.

I grit my teeth as I take a deep breath. Yep, definitely not good.

"How much longer?" I ask.

"Not long, not long!" he reassures. There's a banging noise and he looks at it in panic. "Not long at all…"

"Well, hurry up!" I order. "I don't want to get tossed around for all eternity!"

"Don't be silly, Jenna!" the Doctor dismisses. "Eventu—oh, here comes another one!"

This time I'm ready for the impact, sliding across the floor and turning so that I am on my back yet again. The Doctor is still piloting.

"You were saying?" I remind him.

"I was saying that eventually the turning will stop, because the ship will soon be turning faster than time and we'll be perpetually frozen," he explains, "and/or we'll get caught in a planetary orbit and crash land."

"So either way we're screwed, right?"

"Again, phrasing is slightly off, but—" The ship groans again. "—if you want to put it like that, yes!"

I grip the bar tight, tired of being tossed around. The ship lurches again and I hang on, dangling above the console.

"Give me one minute!" the Doctor requests. He flips a couple more switches and puts his hand on the big lever. "Geronimo!"

He pulls down on the lever and the ship lurches one last time. I sit up and my back hits the railing for the last time. The lights fade away and the ship's groans cease. The only sound is the time rotor.

I take deep breaths but they hurt every time I attempt to inhale. I sigh.

"Yeah, maybe it is better that I don't try to pilot the TARDIS," I mutter.

The Doctor lets out a wheezy laugh. "Agreed."

"So where are we now?" I ask, pulling upwards and getting into a hunched position.

"Not sure," he admits. "TARDIS has to realign itself, get in order. Signals might be a little wobbly for a little while."

"You think she's going to hate me even more now?" I joke, wincing. "I do."

"Now, now. Don't be so harsh on yourself—" He turns around. "Jenna, are you alright?"

I laugh weakly. "I just got thrown around a room, what do you think?"

"We should get you to the infirmary," he suggests. He walks over. "Here, I can carry you."

"Hah, no," I say, pushing him away. "I can walk."

The walk isn't that far. Still, the offer of being carried becomes more tantalizing when I reach the infernal devices known as "stairs".

The infirmary is a simple white room that kind of looks like a school's nurse's office, with cots lined up and a glass cabinet at the end lined shelf after shelf with bottles full of powders and pills of different shapes and sizes. I collapse onto one of the beds and stay there.

"That was _extremely_ foolish of you to do that, you know," he scolds, pressing buttons on the machine next to me.

I snort, face planted in the cot. "Like you haven't done that before."

I can almost see him sputter. "Well, yes. But I was young!"

"I'm young," I point out.

"Still, no more piloting the TARDIS for you. Even if I wasn't going to allow it in the first place."

"For once, I wholeheartedly agree with you." I turn my head to face him. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Setting up the medical scanner," he says distractedly. "Should be able to diagnose your injuries. Now roll onto your back."

"Piss off."

I'm pushed onto my back. "Hey!"

"The scanner can only take an anterior view, and I don't want you wallowing around," he explains. "Now just stay still for thirty seconds."

I do as he says. There's a green light that comes and goes, and a dinging sound.

"Aha! Now let's see…three bruised ribs, cut on the forehead, scarring on arms," he says, glancing over to me at that last one. He squints. "Huh. That's not right…"

"What's not right?" I ask.

"Nothing…TARDIS is still getting back in order that must be it." He shakes his head. "Be back in a mo."

He leaves and returns a couple minutes later with two purple pills and a white one.

"These two are for the cuts and bruises," he says, giving them to me. "Should make you feeling fit as a fiddle in under twenty four hours. You know, I always wondered about that phrase, 'fit as a fiddle'. Are fiddles actually fitted? And if so, why? You don't see fiddles taking morning jogs or going to the gym every Thursday afternoon."

I grumble and take the pills, swallowing them dry. "What's the white one for?" I ask.

"Hm?" he asks, being pulled out of his ramble. "Oh, yes! This is for the pain. Healing can be a nasty process, especially if you have to speed cell division and things like that. This should help."

I take the other pill and rest my head back onto the cot. "I think I'm going to sleep for a bit, okay? Go back to the console room."

"Jenna—"

"It's just going to be a nap, don't worry. And if I have any nightmares I'll deal with it. I just want to sleep."

He nods, and starts leaving the room before turning around at the doorway. "Quigs?"

I roll my eyes. "What is it?"

"Just one question…you haven't told me any more lies, have you?"

I feel myself freeze up. "No. Why?"

"No reason…must just be a glitch. Goodnight, don't let the bed bugs bite."

**#**

He doesn't ask me anything, except for that.

"Have you told me any more lies?"

Yeah, I have.

"No, stop asking. It's annoying."

And each time I answer the number of lies I've told him piles up higher, one lie stacked on top of another and layered until it's a castle of lies that can be seen for miles and miles.

I think he's just trying to keep himself in denial.

He doesn't ask me about my age, about my time alone. He doesn't ask me about what my nightmares entail or the tipping point that drove me back into my bad habit. He stays silent about those things.

And it really starts to bother me.

Not that it should, but it does. We joke and eat and do all the normal things people would do, but that's the thing. They're _normal_ things, _normal _events. Normal doesn't fit into the equation here. What does fit is adventures and banter, but that's ceased to exist. All that's left is something bordering on everyday life, if you take out the time machine.

I hate it, but I don't change it. I'm too preoccupied keeping my own secrets behind closed doors to stop it.

He hates it, yet it seems that he's the one enforcing it. Like adventure is a poison to me. So he keeps me inside while he goes out, uses the whole piloting incident as an excuse. I'm not strong enough yet, I still need another day or two. Just give it a couple days, you'll be ready. Just be patient.

I hate being patient, and I hate being protected like a child.

Still, I don't leave. And he doesn't ask anything. Everything is…neutral.

I hate neutral.

**#**

**I'm sorry for the short(er) chapter. I'm having a bit of trouble with writer's block at this section. Hopefully, I'll come out of it at some point.**

**Reviews are highly appreciated, as always.**

**Until next time!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	38. Suturis, Part 3

**To those who are still confused over what Jenna's secret might be, I would suggest you look at chapter 35 again and read closely.**

**Anyways, I apologize for the late update. I wrote this a couple days ago but forgot to post. My head's been multitasking a lot lately, what with finals and everything.**

**However, I hope you enjoy the story!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

I haven't been talking to him. Trying to stand my ground, you know? And he's still stubborn and furious at me. But honestly, it's not like I did anything bad.

Or, at least, not really…

**Log: Week Three**

Living all cooped up inside a time machine isn't all that bad. On the plus side, you get to see all these different rooms and other things to do; it always changes, in the end. If you don't like a room you never have to step foot inside of it if you don't want to.

Unfortunately, if you happen to be on the TARDIS's bad side, it also means that things can get easily lost.

"Come on, where'd you put it?" I ask, trying to retrace my steps. It's a bit difficult when the _fucking hallway keeps rearranging itself. _"You'll have to show me the library sooner or later, you know. It's not like you can hide it forever."

The hallways vibrate in response, almost as if to say, "Watch me."

I open yet another door similar to that leading to the library and sigh, shutting it closed again. "It's just a laptop!" I defend. "That's all I need, one simple block of wires and a keyboard. Nothing more, nothing less."

I open yet another door and groan, closing it again.

"I was _nice _to you when we first met!" I argue. "I sat outside and listened and everything! I mean…okay, yeah, I hit you once or twice—but that doesn't matter!"

Another hum echoes through the hallways, and this time it feels more offended than mischievous.

"Oh, you watch," I warn. I gesture to the ground. "You see this nice, clean floor? It won't be so polished when I'm done with it."

Another vibration.

"Okay, that was an empty threat," I admit. "But the feeling is still the same. Come on, I just want to watch my shows."

A hum that emanates a sort of "you know I can't let you do that" vibe.

"I know why you're doing this," I point out. "And I get the reasons, I really do, but I'm not going to skip ahead! I know better than to do that." I put my hands on my hips. "Besides, wouldn't it be worse if he found it, anyway? You're so busy keeping me distracted, he could be scrolling through the episode summaries right now!"

A Scottish voice answers behind me. "I am a sentient time machine. Keeping you busy is a cheap trick."

I turn around and face Amy Pond, the adult one. "Oh, looks like we've gained an attitude while I was gone."

"This modus has a predilection towards being on a more emotional front," the image explains, setting it's monotone back in place. "You should not be here. You should be dead."

I nod. "I know. But I'm not, unfortunately. So it looks like we're both going to have to deal with it."

"You are at a risk of harming my Thief."

"I'm trying not to, if it makes any difference."

"It does not. Whether you know it or not, like it or not, you pose as a threat to my Thief."

I roll my eyes. "I just want to watch a _television show_, sue me. I'll put on headphones and build a fort and everything, if you like."

There's a small pause.

"No."

"_Come on._"

"I will not let you be of any more trouble to the Doctor. You are making him worry, making him question things that should not be questioned."

I frown. "Like what?"

It stares at me, dead in the eye. "How old are you?"

I snort. "Sixteen."

"No, you're exact age."

I blink. "I don't know that."

"But the Doctor does. And that makes all the difference."

"How does that make any difference?" I shout.

"He worries too much, thinks too much. I am running out of good dreams to give him at night."

I frown. "Good dreams? You mean the Doctor dreams?"

"He has nightmares," the ginger image corrects. "I give him dreams."

"I have nightmares!" I point out. "Where are my good dreams?"

"I have none for you."

I put my hands on my hips. "And why is that?"

"The Doctor is my Thief, the one who stole me away to go see the Universe. He is the last of his kind, as am I. I care for him as he cares for me." She pauses. "And you are a stranger."

"I'm not a stranger," I point out. "I've been on this ship for…what, four or five months? That's longer than some others that've been aboard."

"You are a stranger," the hologram repeats. "Set in your ways, you never change. Only fade until you are nothing but another face left unknown."

"The Doctor knows me," I bite back. "I may not belong here, but he knows who I am. He knows."

"Yes, but how much does he know? And how long until he doesn't?"

There's footsteps somewhere down one of the corridors.

"Jenna? Jenna, where are you?"

I turn around. "I'm over here!" I call back. I face the hologram again. "What do you mean by that?"

"Here, everybody lives and everybody dies. You don't belong here."

"I know that, but why is that still important?"

"It makes up who you are and what you will be."

"What do you mean by 'over here', there are a lot of 'over here's'!" the Doctor yells.

"Follow the sound of my voice!" I suggest. I quiet down to a regular speaking tone. "And what am I?"

The hologram stays silent. The footsteps become louder.

"What am I?" I repeat slowly.

The eyes of Amelia Pond stare straight into mine. "You are unexpected."

I frown. "But what does that mean?"

The hologram dissipates until there's nothing left.

"What does it mean?" I ask, much louder.

I'm answered with silence and proceed and take in a deep breath that doesn't calm me down at all. It was worth a shot, though.

"Listen here, you little...Okay, just stop being so god damn vague all the time! It's getting on my nerves!"

"Jenna," the Doctor says, entering the corridor.

I regain my composure and turn around. "Yeah?"

"Were you talking to somebody?"

I shake my head. "Nope. Not at all. I was just…talking to myself."

His eyes go wide and he nods. "Ah, yes. I do that a lot, healthy for the mind to do that sometimes. Inner evaluation, that's what I like to call it. Can be a good time, loads of fun." He frowns. "Unless…it isn't. Was it a good time?"  
I nod. "Yep," I lie. "Buckets of fun."

He grins. "Good. Buckets is good, buckets can do multiple good things. Did you know on one planet the inhabitants—"

"I don't want to know, thank you," I say, putting my hand up. "You already ruined straws for me."

"The Northern Galatinian's digestive cycle is actually rather inventive, if you actually take some perspective," the Doctor argues.

"I'm not going to," I tell him. I shake my head and straighten myself out. "Anyways, why were you searching for me?"

"Just checking up on you," he explains. "You'd been gone a while, so I came looking."  
I look at him and smirk. "Liar."

"Am not!"

"Please, I could've been gone for two days lost in the TARDIS and you wouldn't have noticed. In fact, it might just have been."

He laughs. "No, no it couldn't have been." His chuckle fades. "No…was it?"

"No," I tell him honestly. "But that does prove my point."

He sneers. "Fine, okay. But I do need to ask something of you."

At this I become wary. "This isn't something dangerous, is it? Because it sounds like something you would say before asking somebody to help fix an incinerator that's shooting fireballs."

"Jenna, who do you think I am? I'd never even think of doing that!" he denies. He lowers his voice. "…again."

I lean forward. "So what is it that you want, exactly?"

"Just a checkup," he says. "On that ribcage of yours. Mandatory stuff, you know."

I frown. "You said last week that I would be good in under a day."

"I did, but that was last week. I might've been completely insane last week."

"You're sounding insane right now, if that helps."

He waves me away and turns to start walking towards the medical bay, assuming that I'm following him. Which I am, but that doesn't matter. "The point is, I just need to make sure that the medicine is working. Cell division can be nasty if it goes the wrong way."

I think over what he's said and stop in my tracks. "Are you saying you might have given me cancer?"

"What? No, those pills are specifically anti-metastasizing. They're from the 48th century, cancer is as easily curable as polio. No, what I mean is perhaps growing an extra rib or maybe even a parasitic twin."

"Thanks," I say sarcastically. "Because that's supposed to make me so much better."

"Extra ribs are easily fixed," the Doctor points out, turning a corner. "And I find that extremely twinist. Parasitic twins can be delightful people, especially when they happen to be attached to rather nasty hosts."

"I think I would've felt myself gaining an extra twin or rib, though," I argue. "So what's the point of checking up?"

"Just being cautious."

"You're the poster boy for anti-cautiousness." I round another corner with him. "Is this something else? Are you hiding something from me?"

"That is a possibility that may be an actuality," he rambles. "Just do as I say, and everything will fine. I just need to figure something out. Something that's been itching at me since last week."

I walk faster so that I'm next to him. "And what's that?"

He glances down at me. "Nothing important. Let's change the subject. Why were you conversing with the TARDIS?"

I frown. "I never said I was conversing with the TARDIS."

"Ah, yes, but you were lying to cover up the fact that you were conversing with the TARDIS." He looks down at me again and taps the side of his nose. "I know these things, I can tell."

Sure you can.

I sputter. "I—okay, yeah. I was talking to the interface, call the cops."

"And what exactly was it that you two hens chatting on about?"

"Nothing important," I answer. "I was just trying to get to the library."

"And?" he asks, knowing there's more to it.

"And she decided to keep me as far away from the library as possible."

"Now why would she do that?" he inquires curiously.

"Well, I was watching some…content," I say, being careful not to say the words 'your life story'. "And I went to go take a leak. When I came back, the door to the library was gone."

"'Content?'" he repeats, face twisting up. "What sort of 'content'?"

I flush. "Nothing you need to know. My laptop, my life."

He goes red and wide eyed. "Jenna! In a library! There are lost texts and sacred scriptures from thousands of galaxies in that room and you choose to watch…'content'!"

I realize what he thinks I'm saying and slap his shoulder. "No, no!" I deny. "God, for a man who acts like a toddler you have a dirty mind. I wasn't watching that!"

"Oh," he says curtly. The redness fades. "Then what was it?"

I hesitate. "You. Not future you or anything, just past you. I was bored, and watching some other things when it popped up and…I don't know. You get a new view on things after living through it."

"And the TARDIS was angry," the Doctor concludes. "Didn't want me to tumble in and see my own future. She's a clever one, my TARDIS."

"Yes, she's….delightful," I sneer. "Absolutely wonderful."

"The TARDIS is like a cat," the Doctor reassures. "Just give her some time."

"Doctor, I've been on board for more than five months," I point out. "If she wanted to warm up to me, she would've done it by now."

"Ah, you're from a different universe. There's no doubt that she would take a little while longer to like you." He puts his hand on the corridor wall and pats it affectionately. "You're like an itch she can't scratch. She'll try to get rid of you, but as long as you're here she can't get you."

"So I'm an itch now," I summarize. "You're not very good at making people feel better, you know."

"You know what I mean." He points to the door. "Ah. We're here. Come along!"

I sigh and follow him through the doors, hopping up on one of the beds and lying on my back, putting my hands under my head to act as a pillow.

"Is this going to be long? I have things to watch."

"You have _me_ to watch, which aren't going to do any longer," he states, setting up the machine.

I sit up. "Why not?"

"Because I say so. And there's other things to do besides sitting down and watching television shows. Now lie back down."

"Like what?" I retort. "Playing one person checkers?"

"It's a nice game," he argues. "I've had some good wins there. Now—" He puts his hand on my shoulder and guides me back down. "—sit down."

I humph and cross my arms. "I just don't see the point. I can't be stuck inside all the time, I'm used to moving all over the place. It's unnatural."

"You need to be safe."

"I need to get out. You're always leaving, going this place and that, but I'm told to stay inside. And you know what? I do it, every time, because I keep thinking that I'm this scared little child that needs to be protected. And maybe I am scared, but I'm not little and I don't need protection. Not all the time."

"Bad things happen to those I fail to protect," the Doctor explains. "They die, they leave, and they grow up once and for all. I won't let that happen to anybody else anymore, much less a child." He turns the machine on. "I've already done that once."

The scanner crawls over me and blinds me for a moment before siphoning back into light source hanging above. The Doctor reads the screen in silence before his face falls.

I sit up. "Is something wrong? Do I actually have an extra twin inside me or something?"

"No," he answers distractedly. He concentrates on the screen. "No, you don't." He taps the monitor. "That can't be right. That would mean…but no, no. That's not…that can't…"

I swing my legs over the cot. "What's up?"

He keeps darting his eyes between me and the monitor before answering. "How old are you, Jenna?"

I gulp. "What?"

"Do you know how old you are?"

I shake my head. "Um…sixteen? Yeah, I'm sixteen."

"No, no. Your exact age."

"Uh…" I stammer. Let's see, I was, what, two or three months from turning sixteen in New York? So subtract, and I was gone a year—no, I told him four months. I said I was gone for four months. "Sixteen years and…one, two months?"

He growls in frustration and smacks the monitor. "No! No, that can't be. Wrong. Wrong! That's wrong."

I grip the side of the cot. "W-Why would be wrong?"

"The scanner, it takes down a biological reading of everything," the Doctor explains. "What you ate last, when you slept last, how many moles you've got. Which is fifteen, in case you were wondering. I used to have seven, with my last body. Haven't checked this one yet, I should." He shakes his head. "Rambling, I'm rambling. But the thing is, it also shows age. Biological age, of course. When it comes to relativity it becomes a bit tricky."

"And what's wrong with my age?" I ask, trying to keep my breathing even.

"It's off," he says. "By eight months. You say you should be sixteen years two months, when in fact it says that you are sixteen years, ten months, and seventeen days. That would that instead of four months, you would've been gone for approximately a year."

"A year exactly," I mumble. I take a deep breath and raise my voice. "But that's not…possible. I'd remember it." And I do, but I'm going to ignore that for a moment.

"You would…unless…"

"Unless what?"

"Unless you were kidnapped, or taken." He stands up straight and begins hurrying around the medic bay. "We'll need to run tests, do research. I will not—I repeat _not _let this happen again. I was too cautious the last time, I was too doubtful. I need...syringes. And scanners, lots of scanners. I need to find out what's wrong with you."

"Doctor, this is ridicu—"

"Can't be a cyborg, the biological scanner would pick that up from the get-go," he continues. "Flesh is possible, but you…you didn't react well to it, did you? I think you didn't—when was that again? Easter Island, yes. That was after…the Feruta System, yeah? No, London, Sherlock Holmes. I think. Oh, brain's getting fuzzy with age."

"Doctor, what are—"

"I _cannot _let history repeat itself, Quigs. No more melting companions waking up on spaceships and no lapses, no forgetting. I will not let you forget anything."

"Doctor, I—"

"Radio scanners, blood flow trackers, the lot. I'll need to get down to the garage and pull out the dusty things. Not to worry, though, all will be answered soon enough." He grins at me weakly and walks back over to me, putting his hands on my shoulders. "Don't worry, we'll figure this out. It's not your fault. I'll solve this, eh?"

I blink. "Doctor, I wasn't kidnapped," I say. "Or replaced."

"But how can you be _sure_?"

"I have my reasons, Doctor. I wasn't kidnapped or replaced or—or implanted or something. I'm perfectly, one hundred percent the same as before." Maybe eighty percent.

"Jenna, you were gone for a _year_, and because of that something happened. And I don't imagine it being a good thing." He goes back to his work. "If I find out—when I find out, we'll find out how this happened. Nobody hurts my friends without consequence."

"Doctor, you're scaring me," I confess. "You're not meant to hurt anyone."

"But when I do, people get hurt anyway. You are _sixteen, _and this should've never have happened. But it did, because I was too slow. Now I'm going to make it right."

I finally stand up from the cot, done with him talking and wanting to speak for myself. "Doctor, you need to—"

"Sit back down, Quigs, I've got to—"

"_You need to listen to me_," I seethe. "_Now._"

That stops him. He turns around, looking concerned.

I take in a deep breath. "First of all, what happened wasn't your fault. It was mine, all of it, and you know it. I opened the window, I decided to jump from the building. And, to tell you the truth, I was going to do it whether you got to me first or not. Because you know what? It was the right thing to do. And what happened after that was because of circumstance, I get that. And I know I can't take responsibility for all the stuff afterwards—that's all you, but only because you're so thick sometimes—but I can be held accountable for what started it all. Got that?"

He nods once.

I brush some of my bangs out of my face. "And secondly: no tests. And that's my choice. No poking or prodding without my permission, which I'm not giving. You can go screw yourself three times over before I let you get a syringe even near me. And that's my choice."

"Jenna, you've been gone a year and neither of us know why—"

"I know why," I confess. I hesitate. "I was gone for a year. That's it. End of story."

"But you said—"

"I lied. Over and over again, I said four months and I was lying. You're not as sharp as you thought." I smile bitterly. "When you found me, I was celebrating the one year anniversary of my misplacement. It was part of the pact."

He frowns with his eyes and shakes his head, but smiles to put together an altogether disbelieving look. "No," he denies, laughing. "No, that can't be right. I'd know, I'm clever."

I sigh. "Not as much as you were led to believe, it seems."

"But—no, I would've…"

"I've lied to you before, it's not that hard."

He looks around, trying to cling to another answer before giving up. "Why, then? Why keep lying to me? It's not going to help anybody."

I gulp. "Same reason as everybody else does. To protect the people that you care about. You tell them that their food is great and that they look amazing so that they can keep smiling. And, before, this wouldn't be happening. But now you're like this—this little brother I've got shield from all the bad things."

"You're _sixteen_."

"I'm old enough to know when things should be kept quiet," I argue. "And I'm old enough to know that you've been doing the same job for a long time and it's time you got a break. And I was the person who was going to give it to you."

"Yes, but you're not _supposed_ to be that person."

"I can be whoever I want to be."

He looks down before glancing back to me again. "A year?" he asks in disbelief. "But that's...that's too much. That's too much time lost."

"It's small compared to 159 years."

"But big compared to the fifteen others you've had!" He pauses. "How much have you not told me?"

I shrug. "A lot," I admit.

"I want you to tell me everything," the Doctor orders.

I look around the room, with the beeping monitors and the smell of sterilized metal stinging my nose.

"Not here," I say. "Somewhere else. It's too…medical here."

So we move to the console room. And I tell him absolutely everything.

**#**

Well, almost everything. It's an edited history. Some of my more shameful acts are left to gather dust. I don't mention Atticus, or meeting him in New York. I don't mention places of the future that I know consciously.

I do tell him about Farringham, and about meeting Donna and Sarah Jane. I tell him about the family in Greece and the planet with the underground the platypus-hedgehogs.

"Murins," he corrects.

"Whatever."

It ends up taking me a day or two in total in order to give him the edited history I've created. By the end, my throat is sore and I'm exhausted. It would've been a shorter tale if he hadn't gotten distracted so much.

"—and at one point I wasn't sure whether or not I was going to be able to hold on any longer without—Doctor, are you paying attention?"

"What? Of course I am, don't be silly."

"What did I just say?"

"Uh…something about the Radagorgians, I think."  
"Doctor."

"Hm?"  
"I told you about that forty five minutes ago."

"Oh." A sheepish grin. "Well, time does pass by when one is having fun, eh?"

And the end of all the storytelling I get up and get a glass of water to sooth my throat, returning to the room.

"That's my story," I tell him. "Nothing left. No more secrets."

Well…maybe a few.

He leans up against the console. "You've been up against quite a lot, haven't you? Certainly seen a lot of things."

I take a sip and nod. "Lots of things. Things I'll see again, probably. Who knows how many places I've jumped to where I'm going to be around the corner, stuck in here." I laugh at my joke, but blink in irritation at the truth of it.

"You won't be bored?" he asks. "I've seen...many things. Too many things, like you. And sometimes it all just becomes stuff."  
I grin. "Eh," I shrug. "The Universe is still pretty damn cool, in my opinion. I don't think I'll ever get bored of it." If I ever get to see it again.

The Doctor grins back. "Good."

**#**

**Again, I apologize for the late update. I'll be on time next time, I promise. This week has just been a doozy, to be honest.**

**Reviews are very much appreciated, as always!**

**-JustStandingHere**


	39. Suturis, Part 4

**Hello! My, my, this is a **_**long **_**chapter. I apologize for that. Anyways, ejoy!**

**-JustStandingHere**

**#**

Huh, looks like we're practically caught up. After all, not much happened during week three after that. But week four—oh, this is where things happen, to be quite honest. This is it.

Or maybe that's week five. Ah, fuck it. Whatever week it is, this is the one that matters, really. And you'll be getting _my _side of the story, not his. I've already gotten enough of his perspective. Or, maybe, _your _perspective, depending on who's listening. Oh, and by the way: if this is _you_, your perspective sucks and is completely bigoted. Unlike mine. Mine is completely unbiased.

Well, okay. A little biased. Maybe more than halfway biased _but _that doesn't matter.

Anyway, let's get going. I've got the console recording system online and I don't know when he'll be back from running his errands.

**Log: Week Four**

I start the recordings sometime after spilling the beans about practically almost everything. I don't exactly know what starts it, but I know it becomes an idea somewhere along the lines of spilling said beans. Maybe it's the need to tell the full thing, maybe it's the fact that the TARDIS already said that I would make them anyway. Maybe it's the fact that at some point the Doctor will regard me as a complete stranger for no reason and if he's going to forget I'm going to fucking remind him.

I'm seated in the hammock I've had reset, since the thing was tied into a knot after the whole turning-the-TARDIS-into-living-rocking-chair thing. I have the recorder in my hand, dragging it down with me while he pilots above. I look up, watching him, and finally decide to get things going. I have a lot to cover anyway.

"Um," I start off, then let go of the recording button. I sigh and start again. "I really do not know how to start these things off."

Yeah, that's good.

**#**

It starts on a Thursday morning. Or, at least, the TARDIS says it's Thursday. Which is odd, considering there are no tangible Earth days inside the TARDIS.

I squint at the monitor and pull it closer to my face.

"Must be on a planet, then," I rationalize. I scratch the back of scalp, loosening the firm position my bedhead has placed itself in. Hammocks are great, but they always leave all my hair all scooped up and around my face.

I sigh and switch off the screen. "So where's the Doctor? Out on another trip?"

The console beeps in a rather positive manner.

"So I guess it's just you and me, then," I point out. I lean against the switches and buttons lazily. "Again."

A more negative beeping ensues.

"No, no. I enjoy being with you—you know, when you're not trying to throw me out. Your cool, you've an aquarium. But I honestly don't want to get trapped in another labyrinth like last time." I grimace. "And since you've so _adamantly _kept me from my laptop, and the library, I've got nothing to keep me entertained."

I sigh and turn around, pacing in a circular motion and letting my hand glide across the railing. "So how long do you think he'll be gone this time? Another thirty minutes? Two hours?"

The room doesn't respond.

"He better be out doing things instead of sightseeing or some shit," I continue. "Because if he is, I'll personally kick his ass and leave him crying."

An angry sort of noise reverberates around me.

"Okay, I'll get him into infirmary, hook him up to an IV and set a bunch of pain medication at his bedside table," I compromise. "_Then _I'll kick his ass and leave him crying."

There's an air of annoyance around me, but I ignore it.

I slouch and look up. "I guess I could…I don't know, work on that recording stuff? He's not here to listen to any of it anyway."

The recording device practically leaps at me. I try to collect my thoughts, as running my tongue slack can muddle with keeping track of where I left off.

"Let's see…I'd done the _Hesperidia_, right?" I ask nobody. "So that leaves…a lot of other stuff." I groan. "God, I'm going to die before I even catch up."

As is evidenced, I was wrong about that.

I skim over less important adventures—fun, yeah, but not life-altering and/or world-destroying. Okay, maybe slightly world destroying, but that's not the point. I talk about angels in Manhattan and hugging the Doctor. I talk about staying in while the Doctor tries to convince me to go have another adventure with him and wince to myself as I say it, realizing how much the roles have reversed.

I talk about Sherlock Holmes and more angels and small boxes containing time itself. I speak of notes jammed into the back of cabinets and murderous fountain cherubs. I ramble on the topics of Victorian London and sleeves rolled down for a reason. I keep talking myself hoarse so I continually leave off and go grab a glass of water, like I've done before, and come back to the hammock to start up another recording.

After that I chatter on about River Song and small crafting materials held in pockets. I recall when we were made out to be gods and how the Doctor was the Broken Man. My mouth spews facts about Silence ships and nightmares and gooey, fleshy things that wake up on the ground and think they're normal.

I sleep for a couple hours after that.

_Practically worthless…why would he save you…whether you like it or not, whether you know it or not…_

_You know what happens next, don't deny it. You've figured it out, somewhere in the back of your head. Your time is almost up, you've just got to wait until your pace slows down to a stop._

There's a shock of electricity to the recorder in my hand that wakes me up. He's there to talk to me, only it isn't him. His voice is too monotonous.

"You are safely secured in reality," the interface states. "You have no need to worry."

I take a couple calming breaths and trying to hold myself together again. I nod. "Thank you, really."

I get up and shower all the sweat off of me. Nightmares do that sometimes, make you sticky. Like you've just escaped from a vat of tar you can't scrub off all the way. Waking up in a cold sweat…even after its washed away, the clamminess sticks around for a while. It's disturbing.

As far as I've seen, the Doctor hasn't returned. I don't bother to check the monitor. I only slept for so long, talked for much more. He's been gone for a day before.

I pull the recorder back down and gulp, remembering arguments and dancing and music blasting around the room. I laugh at pretending the Doctor was my mentally disabled uncle and being confronted by the Ponds in the toy section of Macy's. I smile at Clarissa and Imogene.

I want to scream at myself when the Visichek arrive. I want to punch myself when I let them, when I'm climbing up the stairs.

I whisper, almost rasp out the details of the rooftop. I sing along to the lyrics of the song, trying to add some sort of dramatic effect that would make me feel better. It doesn't.

I choke on the topic of falling, of lonely Doctors and of being alone. Of running into Sarah Jane and breaking into a home in Chicago. I skim over less important things, things like just passing from place to place. No, the important stuff is staying. All of it.

I don't hold back this time. I don't keep secrets on this one. There's no need. If somebody ever listens to this, I'll either be gone or won't care anymore.

Hopefully it's the second one.

I sleep in between some of them, go to eat for others. The TARDIS wakes me up every time, and I don't know how much time has passed, but I don't care. I've got to keep going.

I talk about reunions and nightmares and sleeves rolled up until my throat is tearing itself apart and I have to stop. I click the recorder off, just before I'm about to go into detail about making the TARDIS turn upside down, and get up to refill my glass of water. I chug it down with ease and return, groggy and sore from lying down for too long.

I grab the recorder from the console and walk past the monitor as it flickers on. It takes me a second to notice it, but when I do I can feel my grip loosen and glass slip from my fingers. I don't hear it break.

I blink a couple times.

The monitor says it's a Sunday.

"It's been four days," I think aloud. "He's been gone for four days."

I take a step closer to get a better look, just to make sure, and wince at the crunching sound underneath me. I ignore it, and feel panic well up inside me as the monitor's screen stays the same, never changing.

"He's never gone for four days," I whisper. "Never, unless…something's wrong." I turn around and look up at the ceiling, because it seems like the thing to do. I mean everybody on TV and in the movies do it, so why shouldn't I? "TARDIS? Could you…you know—go interface or whatever?"

Nothing happens.

I sigh. "Listen, something's up, and I think the Doctor's gotten himself in trouble…again."

Still nothing.

"Aren't you going to react? Get angry over it? Your Thief's missing!"

"This would not be the first time he has gotten himself into trouble, and therefore I do not worry," a female voice says. I turn to face a woman with hair cropped up to the nape of her neck and a lavender ensemble, adorning a cylindrical hat of the same color.

I take a step back. "Who the hell are you?"

The woman doesn't even blink. "TARDIS records: passenger Tegan Jovanka."

"But I don't…" I squeeze my eyes shut and groan. "Must be from one of the earlier regenerations."

"I thought you knew all about the Doctor's life," the interface says with a hint of smugness. It's easily concealed in the monotone of its voice, but it's still there.

"I never said that!" I argue. "It's just…I never got around to watching it, okay? Too many seasons."

"Perhaps you should," the interface suggest.

"Yeah, when you give me my laptop back," I spit. I shake my head. "Never mind. I need to find him, this doesn't feel right."

"The Doctor will solve his problems for himself," the TARDIS states.

I snort. "Please, like he ever does."

There's a long pause, and I'm expecting her to give in and say she was wrong, but she doesn't.

"We are currently on the planet of Kona Máttur," the interface says instead. "In the sixth Stelpa star system located inside the Rettindi galaxy of the—"

"I get it, I get it," I interrupt. "Anything _important _that I need to know?"

"The TARDIS poses a question: why would you need to know anything?"  
"Because I'm going out to save him, that's why," I answer. "So, come on. Facts, figures, anything."

"Kona Máttur is a planet with a largely female dominated society. Its inhabitant can live for hundreds of years and thrive on a monarchial system of government. As of now we are in the planet's capital city, Tengi Hyohm."

"Anything else?" I ask.

There's another pause. "No."

"Alright." I nod. "Alright. Time to go outside."

I grab a pair of shoes and my key, stuffing it somewhere safe and racing down the stairs. I don't hesitate a second to throw the doors open.

I'd forgotten that the air smells different on other planets. And that the building structures are different as well. Like this place is full of stacked, greenish-brown structures with hexagonal openings and a sky the color of baby pink, like a fading sunset. It's beautiful.

But I have other stuff to do.

My gaze drops down to the ground level I'm at, then steadily rises up again to get a good look at the people here. I realize two things:

One, they're tall. Maybe six to seven feet tall, to be precise. And rail thin, with large black eyes and heads that started out normal but sloped up after the forehead into a point. Their skin shines like their eyes and they walk with elegance. Some have wings—the slimmer, taller ones—and those with a stockier build are wingless. There's a whole hype around me, buzzing in my ears both literally and metaphorically.

Two, I'm in my pajamas.

Probably should've gotten into something more professional-looking while I had the chance.

No, no I've got to keep my mind focused. I have to find the Doctor.

I walk a little further down the street I'm on and head towards an idle citizen on the corner. I tap its arm, and it looks around, then down at me.

"Oh my," it breathes. Its wings flutter a bit.

I wave. "Hi. Yeah, hello. Um…are you on this street a lot?"

"You're the size of a pupa," it observes. It bends down to get a back view of me. "Oh, you are positively adorable!"

"If you could answer the question?" I request.

"Oh," the alien—female, I presume—says, taken aback. "Well, of course. I live here."

"Good," I sigh. "Have you seen another person like me around me? He's tall—well, not tall by _your _standards, but taller than me. Brown hair, big chin." I tap my neck. "Little bow on his neck?"

Her eyes widen. "You mean the representative."

I nod. "Yeah, him! Where is he?"

"He headed towards the palace of the queen," she informs me, pointing to the rather large stacked building facing my back.

"Thank you!" I say, and then bow because it seems like the right thing to do. Besides, I haven't been able to bow for a while. You begin to miss it.

I run towards the palace as fast as I can, ignoring stares from the other people on the street and focusing on the building that's getting closer and closer with each minute.

There's a gate at the front of it, because all palaces usually have gates except for the lame ones. I mean, really. You can't have a palace without a gate.

I walk up to the two winged guards and smile. "Hi," I say. "Have you seen a man around here? Brown hair, bowtie?"

The two guards exchange a look before glaring down at me. "State your business with the male."

"Uh, I'm his…niece," I answer warily. "Has something happened?"

"That is classified inside the palace walls," the guards say.

"Well can I get _inside _the palace walls?" I retort.

"No one is allowed inside unless they have an appointment with the queen."

I rub my face. "Listen, just tell me whether or not the idiot has gotten himself in trouble again."

"The representative is currently inside the palace walls, and therefore his fate is kept out of the public," the guard on the left states stoically.

I look around, feeling antsy and trying to find a solution. I lick my lips and look back up at the guards.

"Well…I'm his niece, aren't I? Doesn't familial connection play a part in this?"  
"Distant familial connection means nothing on this planet," the guard on the right rebuts. "Unless you are a spouse or an offspring you cannot be let in."

I formulate another lie. "Oh…um…did you say offspring? Yeah, that's what I mean. I'm his—" I grimace a little. "—offspring. A bit of cultural mix up, you see; where I'm from, niece means offspring and…stuff. Yeah."

"We need proof of identification."

"Not making this easy are you," I mutter. Raising my voice, I say, "I don't exactly have any paperwork…but we look similar, right?"

"All of you representatives look the same to me," the guard on the left says, squinting her eyes.

I glance nervously between them, trying to make up another act before their suspicion grows more evident. God, why do guards have to be so stubborn? Every place I've gone, no matter the circumstances they just ask like—like dicks. It's infuriating.

I result to the only thing I have left. I just hope that it works the same as it does in the movies.

I start clapping. "Good job!" I congratulate. "You passed the test!"

The guards exchange a glance before looking back down at me. "What test?"

"The test from the queen," I say, trying to sound like I'm talking about the weather or something factual. I cross my arms. "You didn't forget about the routine inspections, did you?" I sigh, shaking my head. "The queen wanted to evaluate her guards, so she sent me around. And you were my last stop!"

"But you are human."

"Who else would be a good candidate? You're used to all the—your people coming around here, what about a foreigner?"

"Why would the queen let an insect like you do this job?" the guard growls.

Oh, that's ironic.

I shrug. "I was…bored. I mean, my uncle's away doing…whatever he's doing. I didn't want to get involved." Female dominated society, isn't that right? "Men, you know? Can't live with them, can't live without them, that sort of thing."

"How do we know that you're not lying?"

My resolve quickly breaks down. "You don't," I admit. I smirk. "But do you want to risk questioning the queen?"

They both shake their heads. "No, no of course not. We live to serve the queen."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Good. Great, actually." I glance between them. "So, uh…can I be let in? Please? My, uh, rounds are done, so I'd like to go inside and regroup with my—uncle." I wince again.

The guards exchange another glance before moving to the opposite sides of the gates and turning the large wheels on either side, opening up to a lush courtyard.

I bow again, because the other lady seemed to pay no mind to it. "Thank you."

I run inside.

Palaces are easily constructed and almost always have the same exact blueprints, with the throne room being the biggest area and in the center of it all, dungeons downstairs, and other necessary rooms spread along the top.

Just in front of the doors inside are another set of guards, this time with guns. Big, scary guns.

Oh joy.

"Hello," I say warily, slowing my pace down to a stop. "I'd like to get inside, please."

"Do you have an appointment with the queen?" one of the guards inquires.

"Uh…well, no. But I need to talk to the Do—the representative. He's inside, right?"  
The other guard squints, her tone dangerous. "And what business do you have with that man?"

"I came along with him," I explain. "To here, to Kona Máttur. I'm his—relative."

"We were not made aware of you," the first guard states. "Surely someone of your stature would've been of importance."

"I chose to stay in the city," I explain. "You know, do some shopping, talk with the locals, rest in a cocoon— or whatever the hell you guys sleep in— the whole shebang. Get to, um, get to know the people better, you know?"

"Of course the human female would decide to stay in the shadows," the second guard spits. She turns to the first guard. "Horrible race."

"_Patriarchal societies_, I swear," the second guard adds. "All the men are the same, especially that representative."

I frown. "Um…what with the representative? Is he in trouble?"

The two guards glare at me.

"He disrespected the queen," the second guard informs me.

"He dared to interrupt her speech," the first one supplies. "He has been sent to the dungeon."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, great," I mutter. I raise my voice. "Of course. He fucked it up again." I lick my lips and look up at the guards. "Can I go to see him? Perhaps I could…arrange something? You guys have bail here, right?"

"The only way out of the dungeon is by execution."

I blink. "Oh. Shit." Okay, this isn't exactly the first time this has happened. We've been sent off to die multiple times, but this is the first time I'm on my own. No screwdriver, no misplacement to get me out should the situation turn to crap. "Well, can I still see him?"

"We will permit it."

I'm led down to the dungeon, which reeks of something awful and is full of hexagonal doorways. They aren't barred, but the prisoners are still behind them, not moving. We walk in line, and glance at the sneering and/or suffering faces of the other prisoners before we stop at an unmarked cell.

It's not really a cell as it is more of a conglomeration of rooms, all carved out into the wall. Some prisoners are sitting in the hallway, talking, while others are climbing into their rooms via step ladder.

"Representative," the guard on my left calls out. "We have a visitor for you."

There's a pause, then the sound of feet hitting the ground. The Doctor, who's hopped out and has his back turned, dusts himself off.

"A visitor? I don't have visitors, usually, unless said visitor wants to kill me. Or—" He turns around and blanches. "Or the visitor is Jenna."

I wave bitterly. "Hello," I say with sarcastic cheeriness. "Long time no see."

"Quigs, what are you doing here? I told you to stay in the TARDIS at all times!"

"No, you _implied _it," I correct. "Never said it aloud. And I was patient, I waited for four days but _you _never showed up."

He blinks. "Four days?" He grins, but his eyebrows still frown. "No, no it can't be four days, it's only been maybe 24 hours."

I put my hands on my hips. "You left on a Thursday, the TARDIS said so."

He nods. "Yes."

"It's Saturday now."

He gapes. "Ah," he says curtly. "Yes, of course. That would make sense, then, for it possibly being four days."

"It has been four days, no 'possibly' about it," I tell him.

"Why are you in pajamas?"

"I was in a rush." I shake my head and glance between the guards. "Listen, I can't bail you out, can't hold a court order or anything. The only escape is by _execution_."

"I can handle it," the Doctor dismisses. "Now, I want you to go back to the TARDIS and _stay there_ until I come back, I don't want you to be in any danger. I will be perfectly fine"

"But what if you won't?" I ask. "What if you come back to the TARDIS with a new face or—or not at all?"

"Jenna, do I die here?" he asks calmly.

I frown. "No. No, but—"

"Do I die with this face?" he presses further.

"What?" I ask. "Yeah, but—"

"Then you have nothing to worry about." He grins. "I'll be fine. Go back to the TARDIS, where you're safe."

He walks back to his room and hoists himself back up, struggling to get his legs up for a couple seconds before deciding to use the ladder instead.

"Is there anything else you would like to see before you are escorted out of the castle?" the guard asks.

I keep my gaze on the Doctor's room, squinting. "Yeah," I say. I turn to look at the guard. "I want you to arrest me."

Her wings flutter a bit. "Pardon?"

"I want you to arrest me and put me in that cell," I clarify, pointing in front of me. "Just one more prisoner, another execution."

The two guards look to each other, then back to me.

"What charges do you wish to be put under?" they ask.

I think about it a bit. "Disrespecting authority. Tell the queen I said she was…I don't know, stupid or something."

One of the places her long, elegant hand on the button next to the cell block and there's a buzzing sound. They look at me expectantly and I walk through the doorway.

I hear the buzzing chime again, along with the sound of footsteps slowly fading away.

"Absolutely mad, those humankind," one of the guards mutter.

I turn around and stick my hand out, only to be blocked by something like glass, only I can't see it. Interesting.

I smirk, and make my way to the Doctor's room, grabbing the bars of the ladder and pulling myself up to view it.

It's more of a cubby than it is a room, and it's about the size of a pantry with a dirty mattress, a small shelf to the left, and a light. The Doctor is lying down in front of me, looking up at the ceiling.

"So, Andy Dufresne, how are you doing?" I ask, propping myself on my elbows and resting my fists on my temples.

"Quigs?" he asks. He bolts up, but hits his head on the ceiling, shooting back down. I stifle a snort. "Note to self: watch for ceilings. Very dangerous."

I break down from a stifle into a laugh. He sits up slowly and stares at me.

After I'm finished laughing and him in the eye. "Hi," I say.

"What are you doing here?" he asks with a tone made of acid. "I told you to go back to the TARDIS!"

I shrug. "Got arrested."

"Arrested? How?"

"I asked the guards to arrest me. Now I'm here."

He stares at me dumbfounded. "Why would you do that?"

"So I can save your ass," I say, smirking. I hoist myself up further and climb inside the cell. "Wouldn't be my first prison break."

"I thought you didn't do much back in your hometown," he says, confused.

I sit up again the wall and side-eye him. "Did you listen to a word I said when I told you my story? At all?"

"Of course I listened, I just kept my ears more open for the interesting bits," he explains. "A lot of it was about food and sleeping, and I get enough of that with you lying around everywhere."

My feet, which are perfectly aligned with his torso, shoot out and him in the side.

"Ow!" he exclaims. "That hurt!"

"I'm trying to save you from getting killed," I state. "So you better listen to me this time."

"Alright! Alright!" he says. He lowers himself back down onto his back, looking up again. "Sheesh."

"Anyway, back during that whole year I had to steal food a lot," I recap. "Wasn't very good at it when I started." I laugh. "Got caught, a lot, so I had to figure out how to bust out of jail. I mean, I couldn't be there all the time. Usually a little white light and getting pulled through space and time helped, but other times it didn't happen. I think I got shot once, I can't remember."

"Shot?" he asks, stunned.

I nod. "In the…shoulder, I think. Scraped me, but that's the aim of a guard in 1642." I roll up my shirt sleeve to reveal a small white scar. "Yup."

"Didn't that hurt?"

"Of course it did, don't be stupid. But my next stop was the 53rd century, and they have those little pills—what are they called?"

"The little purple ones?"

"Yeah."

"Sutarix, I believe." He grins. "Look at us, two weary travelers."

I snort. "Tell me about it." I kick him again, lightly. "Scoot over, this wall's scraping my back."

"No! It's my cot, not yours." He crosses his arms. "If you wanted a nice place to rest, you should've gone back to the TARDIS."

"Yeah, well I didn't," I remind him. I kick him again. "Now scoot over."

"No," he states stubbornly.

Frustrated, I resort to the most mature method of arguing and stick my tongue out at him. He sticks his right back out at me.

I sigh. "Fine. But I have broken out of my fair share of jails, I'll tell you that. And different planets as well. And I didn't have your sonic screwdriver."

"What are you getting at?" the Doctor inquires.

I look over to the opening to the cell and stick my hand through the opening. "They keep an open cell block," I observe. "Won't that cause any problems?"

"They have a one-way force field at the entrance of the block," the Doctor explains. "They have a switch so that they can come and get those they're going to execute. Same for getting us food and water and the like."

"The outside is fairly expansive," I add. "If we could find a way to trick the switch, we could easily secure the guards in here when we escape."

"That's a good idea," the Doctor considers. "Too bad we can't trick the switch."

I frown. "Why not?"

"They took my screwdriver. Stripped searched me, left me blushing and…screwdriver-less. That's why it's been four days."

I blow some of my bangs out of my face and slump against the wall again. "Shit."

"If we are going to share a cell, I would rather you stop with the cursing."

"Shut it, I'm thinking."

"Rotten lot of good that's going to do," he teases.

I glare at him. "Do you have a better idea?"

He sits up. "Of course I do, Jenna, I always do. Just got to find out what the idea is first."

I laugh. "Nice." I concentrate a bit. "You say you don't have your screwdriver, right? Well why don't we build one? You've got shelves, which means these guys have got to have scrap metal somewhere, right? Not to mention utensils for eating and everything."

His eyes bulge for a second before he grins and laughs, lying back down. "Oh, Jenna Quigley, you are wonderful." He grins for a second longer before sitting up again and hitting his head on the ceiling. "Ouch. Got to remember that ceiling, this is the sixth time in a row." He brushes the dirt off of his hair and starts crawling towards the exit. "Come along now, Quigs. It's time to meet everyone."

I follow him out of the hole and land in the block. The Doctor is already walking ahead of me, so I quickly jog towards him.

"This is Satxe," he informs me, waving his hand towards a cell holding a rather bored-looking Mátturan. "Satxe, this is my friend, Jenna."

"Hello," Satxe sighs. "Is this anything important?"

"Uh, yes, actually. I'd like all your scrap metal."

That grabs her attention. "Pardon?"

"Leftover knives, forks, spoons—sporks. Sporks are marvelous. Used to collect sporks for a while, but I stopped. I should start up again, yes I—"

I elbow him and force a smile. "Also, just anything else beeping or shiny, thank you."

Satxe sighs. "Fine. I'll look."

"Thanks," I say.

The Doctor huffs. "I'm still starting my spork collection back up." He rushes over to another cell. "And this is Ollu, she's in here for high treason. _And _she knits fantastic sweaters, though they're a bit bigger on me. And I'm more of a winter, while she's primarily summer colors."

Ollu's wings flutter a bit before smirking and tucked her legs in. I notice a black bracelet attached to her right ankle. "Didn't know you had any offspring, Doctor."

I frown. "What? No, no I'm not—no."

"Oh yeah, she's not my offspring. More of a slightly forced upon friend."

I frown. "Oi!"

"And I mean that in the nicest way!"

Ollu's smirks grows wider. "I overheard you chatting up Satxe about scrap metal," she says. "All I've got is my knitting board, which is being put to use as of the moment, unfortunately. They took everything else away and stashed it in the hoard."

"Hoard?"

"That's where they keep all the things they nick off the prisoners. It's below the palace. I've seen it, took some stuff from there before." She leans forward. "The real question needing to be asked is why you're asking for scrap metal."

The Doctor glances around before dropping the volume of his voice. "Prison break."

Ollu grins. "Didn't know you had it in you. Alright, I want in. If you two get executed, it'll be quick for you. I've real charges, and I don't want to face them."

I nod. "Alright. You're in."

The Doctor turns around. "Quigs!"

Ollu leans back. "Come back to me when you've got news."

The Doctor shakes his head and we move further down the aisle. "You shouldn't have done that."

I shrug. "Why not? I like her."

He sighs and moves forward, going towards a whole section of the block and waving towards it. "These, Jenna, are the Cártpo brothers: Onik, Itu, and Soxel."

Three Mátturans emerge from their respective cells. It's easy to tell that they're brothers, considering the fact that they've got the same eyes: one back, one white.

"Half blind," the Doctor explains. "And all with speech impediments, but geniuses."

"Hello again, Doctor," says the brother in the lowest cell. "Nithe to thee you again."

"And you, Soxel," the Doctor says, smiling.

"I see you've bwought along someone this time," the one on top, Onik I think, observes. "A female of youw kind. Funny, they'we small."

"Different biology and all that," I explain. I look to the brother in the middle. "You must be Itu, right?"

The next thing that comes out is a bunch of incoherent babbles and a bit of screeching.

"Itu's a tricky one," the Doctor says. "His impediment blocks the TARDIS from making a good translation. Usually this wouldn't happen, but he's also got a bit of excess buzzing that just tips the scales."

Itu grins naively.

"Tho what did you call uth out for, prethithely?" Soxel asks, sounding a bit bored. "It better be thomething worth waking up from."

"Yes, I need scrap metal," the Doctor explains.

"Scwap metal?" Onik repeats. "Why?"

"Prison break, boys," the Doctor says. "And I'm inviting you along."

"What? Doctor—"

I'm cut off. "Hugh, Jenna. You can bring your friends, I can bring mine."

I humph.

"Lookth like you came to the right plathe," Soxel says, grinning. "Hey, Tuni. Grab the bag."

Itu nods, says something, and then retreats inside his cell to emerge with a bag with its contents clinking together inside.

"We've got the motherload," Soxel says. "Thnuck it in when the guardth weren't looking. It hath thcrap metal, thircuitry boardth, the lot. Being in the electronicth trade payth off."

Itu tosses the bag and I catch it. "Wow," I say. "It's heavy."

"It's expensive, so use it wisely," Onik warns. "I don't want to see ouw stuff put to waste."

I shake my head. "It won't. Trust me, we're going to make something useful."

Itu says something, but I don't understand it.

"He's asking what youw building," Onik translates.

The Doctor grins. "A screwdriver."

Soxel stares at him. "Thcrewdriver."

Onik blinks. "A scwewdwivew."

I nod. "A screwdriver."

"Ah, but not any regular screwdriver," the Doctor adds. "It's thonic—oh, sorry." He smiles apologetically as Soxel. "It's sonic. Should be able to manipulate the force field."

"And what will happen once we escape, huh?" Onik asks. "Will we just wun awound in hiding until they fowget us?"

"Don't be silly," the Doctor dismisses. "I've got a time machine. Last of the Time Lords, that's me."

Soxel points to me. "What about her?"

I shrug. "I'm just a human."

"You're more than that, but that's not of importance right now," the Doctor points out. He takes the metal from me and takes a peek inside. "Ooh, wonderful. Thank you very much." He nods to me. "Come along. We have work to do."

**#**

I sit up against the wall of the cell while the Doctor is hunched over the various parts spread out along the floor, being careful to not raise his head high enough to bump the ceiling.

"Did Saxte ever get back to us about that scrap metal?" he asks out of the blue.

I shake my head. "Nope."

"Shame," he says distractedly. "Could really use a good spork."

"Oh, shut up about the sporks," I snap.

He grins. "Never."

I kick him. "I forgot how much of a little shit you can be on adventures," I tell him.

"Oh, admit it, you enjoy it," he goads, picking up another circuit board and comparing it to the clump of wires and metal he's been tinkering with.

I crack a smile. "Okay, I enjoy it a little bit. Doesn't mean it's any less irritating."

"I am a professional irritator," the Doctor boasts. "Among other things."

I laugh. "Like what?"

"Cheese tasting," he answers. "Coaching baseball, herding sheep, et cetera."

"You coached baseball?" I ask, giggling.

"I had a brief stint over in Santo Domingo," he explains. "Could you hand me the blue wire?" I reach for the one closest to me. "No, the thicker one." I sigh and pick up the other blue wire, handing it to him. He doesn't thank me.

I look around the cell and frown. "This is pretty big for a prison cell," I observe.

"It's meant to be small for large Mátturans with wings, not humans. Therefore…" He bends the wire a bit at the end and wraps the rest around the contraption. "…it's big to us. Or at least big enough."

"So are going to break out tonight or—"

"Shh!" he shushes, putting his hand on top of my mouth. "The guards may not have cameras on us but they're not _deaf_."

I shove his hand away and lower my voice. "But are we breaking out tonight? Or tomorrow morning? I mean, we've got a plan but_ when _are we going execute it?"

"Tomorrow night," he tells me. "Right before dinner."

I frown. "Why does it have to be right before dinner?"  
"Why do you ask so many questions?"

"Why do you never answer them straight?" I fire back with ease.

He glances at me before focusing on the makeshift screwdriver again. "After guarding inmates for so long, I'd be starving. Surely a regular Mátturan would be feeling the same. Get distracted long enough to slip away and then we improvise."

"Improvise?"

He puts the device down and glares at me. "I don't exactly have a blueprint of the building, and I need to get my screwdriver."

I shrug. "Have the TARDIS build you a new one," I suggest. "I mean, you completely fried your old one once before, when you first met Martha, right?"

"Yes, but that was different," he argues. "That one was easily reconstructed, this one has…claws and things."

"Aw," I say, leaning forward and sort of giving him a noogie. "Is the wittle Doctor scared he'll get a new toy?"

He shakes his head and glares at me. "Yes," he admits. "It's just a quick stop. Then we'll be on our way."

I sigh. "If you say so, captain. I just want to get home as soon as possible."

His glare quickly turns into a smile as he starts…_giggling_.

"What?" I ask. "What is it? Do I have something on face?"

He points at me. "You called the TARDIS 'home'."

I frown and try not to turn red. "Yeah? And? I've been stuck here for over a year, sue me that the one consistency is what I call 'home'."

"No, no. It's just…I haven't heard _anybody _call the TARDIS 'home' in a long…long time," he sighs.

"Who was the last to say it?"

"Rose," he answers. "After a nasty fight with her mum, I believe. It was one of those rare things, but it had to with me. I asked if she was leaving me and she said, 'No, this is my home'." He smiles. "Good old Rose Tyler. And then, before that, there was Grace, but she didn't really say it as more of…imply it. And before her was Sarah Jane, and before her—it was Susan, I think. Blimey, I can barely remember those days."

I smile smugly. "I guess I'm special, then."

"Of course you are, you all are," he informs. "You've each got a special place in my hearts, every one of you. And I'll be damned the day I run out of space in here." He pats his chest.

"Then what happens when they break?" I ask, curious.

He goes back to his work, portraying no visible emotion whatsoever and hiding his eyes by tipping his head downwards.

"Doctor? Aren't you going to answer the question?"

"Why so curious?"

I shrug. "Just want to pass the time."

He shrugs back. "Well…you lot glue them back together again. Must be poor living conditions in them by now, I do apologize."

I laugh. "Not complaining, I've seen worse."

"Oh?" he says, making his eyes visible with genuine wonder in them.

"The sewers on Priendel 3," I say, grimacing. "I landed in a pile of shit. Not fun."

His face twists up. "Funny, I've never been to Priendel 3."

"You will, then," I tell him. "Just stay away from the pipelines."

**#**

Eventually I fall asleep, my head slowly dropping in between my knees and the stony wall behind me poking into my back. I don't dream, not like I usually do. No nightmares, no Doctors with sneering smiles and edges of buildings. Just darkness; peaceful, kind darkness. And it's nice—really nice. I wouldn't give it up for the world.

Unfortunately, I'm pulled out of it by a strangled whining noise.

"No, that's not right," someone mutters. "Need to adjust the internal cooling systems, adjust the isomorphic makeup, probably."

I keep my eyes shut and groan.

"Oh, are we awake?"

"You are," I grumble. "I'm still trying to sleep. Turn that thing down."

"It's _sonic, _aka it has sound," the Doctor argues.

I groan again and fall forwards, my head landing on the ratty but much more comfortable cot in front of me.

"Oi, get off of there!" the Doctor orders. "It's _my _spot. There's no room."

I turn over and ignore him. "These cells are meant for gigantic bug aliens, right?" I ask. "About seven to eight feet tall with wings?"

There's a small pause. "Yes."

"And you're—what? Six feet tall?"

"Yes."

I turn over to face him. "Then you have room. And I'm tired. I've barely slept this week."

"Why not?"

"I've been doing things," I answer. "Making recordings."

"Of what? You singing?"

"…yeah." I prop myself up on my elbows. "So are you almost done with it?"

"I am very close to being almost done," he tells me. He squints at the object and picks up a spare fork, poking and prodding the device experimentally. "It's a bit more difficult without tools, but manageable. I've been in worse conditions."

I raise my eyebrows. "Oh?"

"I'd rather not say anything," he says, twisting his face up "It's a bit embarrassing, involving some—"

"Ah ah, you had me at 'anything'," I say, holding my hand up. "I don't want to know."

"You asked me."

"Yep, and I got the answer I needed. Thank you, kind sir."

A pause. "You're being sarcastic again, aren't you?"

"Oh, no. Of course not."

"Jenna—"

"Lighten up, I'm just trying to pass some time in a prison cell." I deflate and sigh again. "How long was I out for?"

"I'd guess a few hours at the least," he says absently. "You slept for quite a while, that I know."

I smile. "It was nice. No nightmares."

That catches his attention immediately, and he glances up from his work while continuing to tweak at it. "None?"

I shake my head. "Just darkness. It was amazing." I scrunch my face up. "I never thought that I'd find the dark so comforting."

"None of us do," he replies. His face switches to concern. "Did you have any more while I was gone?"

"…a couple, yeah," I say hesitantly. "The TARDIS woke me up, though. I think she's starting to warm up to me. Took her long enough."

"I like to compare the TARDIS to a cat," the Doctor comments. "She just needs some time."

"She's had almost five months—no, almost _160 years and five months _to warm up to me," I remind him. "Why does she have a thing against me? Am I the only one that stupid machine doesn't like?"

"Oi! She's not _dumb_, she's a very smart ship! And even though you're one of the first, I'm sure there will be companions in the futu—" He stops himself. He looks up and smiles warily. "Oh, silly me. Forgot for a second. I guess that's what happens when you get old."

"You're not _old_, you're just ancient," I say, dragging myself up onto my ass. "Old is sitting in a home and not being able to hear anything. Ancient is mysterious and lively and…cool." He grins at that, and I frown. "Not that you meet all of that criteria, but…you're not old, Doctor. Not by a bit. Look at it like this: I see of you as more of my temperamental brother than the grandpa that always talks too much on the phone."

"Is that an insult?" he asks curiously.

I kick him. "No, you moron. It's meant to be a compliment, take them while I still have them."

He smirks and then goes wide eyed at his work he's been momentarily ignoring. "Oh, that's not supposed to go there. Definitely not."

I lean forward and peek out of the entrance to the cell. "Is it almost dinnertime?"

"Quite close, I'd say," the Doctor says. There's a zapping noise. "Damn it!"

I look back to see the Doctor sucking on his finger and using his free hand to move more wires. "Having fun?"

He grins. "Oodles. That's a good word, oodles. Reminds me of Oods."

"I haven't seen an Ood in a while," I say. "Haven't seen one at all, actually, in real life."

"Well then I'll take you to see an Ood, how about that? Or a whole planet of them. It's been a long time since I visited the Oodsphere. The last time was right before I became me." He plugs in one more wire and grins. "Aha! It's done!"

I crawl up to look at the thing, which is a clusterfuck of wires all connected to a patchwork metal tube with a more or less blown out light bulb perched at the end.

"Sweet," I say. "Now we've just got to tell the others and wait until dinner, yeah?"

"That's the plan."

I scurry towards the entrance of the cell and hop out, wincing as my ankles get a bigger impact then they were hoping for. I walk down the cell block, searching for the one Mátturan with the anklet, and find her perched outside her cell, knitting.

"Ollu," I greet, walking over.

She looks up, black eyes alert. "Oh, it's you. The friend of the Doctor, right? What was your name?"

"Jenna," I tell her. "I came to tell you something regarding…you know."

She sets her knitting stuff down. "Oh, do tell. How are we getting out of this shithole?"

I blink, taken aback. I clear my throat. "Sorry. Never heard an alien swear before."

Ollu blinks. "So I'm an alien, then?"

"Uh…well, from my perspective—yeah, I guess."

"You should stop taking things from your perspective. Frankly, it's very stupid," she advises bluntly.

I gulp. "Uh…ok. But—yeah, um, the Doctor's got the device ready and everything is set to go during dinnertime. So when that time comes along, just hope…or fly, I don't care…over to our cell, since it's closest to the door."

"That's in almost an hour," she comments. "Not very good at giving people a heads up, eh?"  
I blush. "I didn't know! Jesus, give me a break."

"I don't know what a 'jesus' is, and I don't give anyone a break, especially someone being sent under the rule of the inferior man." She smirked.

I put my hands on my hips. "I came here on my own terms, thank you very much. I don't need other people's opinions, especially yours."

She laughs. "I like you. Is there anybody else coming along?"

"Yeah, the, um…Carpenter? No, no, Captured? No, um…Cártpo brothers, yeah."

"I look forward to that," Ollu comments. "Good with their hands, I hear."

I nod, and move onto the brothers, who are playing some sort of card game outside of their cells. Sitting down, their heads are just a few inches shorter than mine.

"Oh, you," one of them says. Without their respective cells, it's hard to tell them apart. "Did your Doctor make good uthe of the thcrap metal?"

Must be Soxel, then. "Yeah, he's got the device up and ready."

"You mean the scwewdwivew," another one—Onik, right?—corrects. "The one with the sonic stuff."

"Yeah," I comply. "It's ready to go. And we're set to go in just under an hour, at dinnertime. So get your stuff ready and meet around our cell."

"All of uth together in one area ith going to look a bit odd, ithn't it?" Soxel questions.

"We'll make it work," I snap, looking him straight in his black and white eyes. I look over to the last one. "You got that, Itu?"

I get a screech in respond.

"I'll take that as a yes." I look around the trio. "So get your stuff packed, and quick. But make it light, alright? I don't want anybody slowing us down, and if you do so help me _god _I will dip you in a vat of insecticide. Got it?" They sit there, looking petrified. "I _said _I don't want anybody slowing us down. Get moving!"

They scramble to get up and get back into their cells.

I turn around to see the Doctor, wide eyed.

"What?" I ask. "I'm the oldest of three, and I babysat. Over time threatening people becomes second nature."

"Remind me to never have you babysit me," he says.

"I already am, it's not like I can stop." I start walking past him, but stop to look back. "You don't have anything you need to pack, right?"

"Only my screwdriver," he states. He holds the new sonic device up to his eyes. "Don't know what I'll do with this when I'm done."

"Maybe you'll give it to me," I joke.

He looks at me like he's actually considering it. "Maybe." He tosses the makeshift screwdriver into the air and catches it without hesitation and focuses back on me. "After we get out of course, which will happen in, oh I don't know, forty-five minutes."

**#**

We're all lounging around the front.

The guards come in with small cubes and a water bottle. They visit the first cell, where a rather rugged looking Mátturan is sitting, perched on the edge of the entrance to his cell. They place the cube in his large cupped hand and direct the water bottle over it, squeezing it a bit to let a few drops come out. The cube bubbles and grows until it becomes a pod-like plant that he cracks open and starts digging into.

"Seeds of the Mátturan Gorging Tree," the Doctor whispers. "Grows into a feast with just a bit of water. Think of peas in a pod, but with a lot more peas that aren't peas but berries that taste like honey. And not a pod, but more of a pod-like leaf that holds the berries."

"I think I've got a good grip on it," I tell him. We're handed our cubes and I watch as mine bubbles up like the one before. I stare at it, unsure of what to do.

"Eat up," the Doctor says, grabbing a handful of yellow berries. "It's not poisonous. The Mátturans are notoriously hospitable even in prisons. That is, until execution. But it's delicious, and you'll need your strength."

I open the pod and quickly scarf down the berries inside. He's right, they do taste like honey.

"When awe we gonna get along with this?" Onik asks, sounding impatient.

"I agree with the miscreant," Ollu states. "You said dinnertime, and it is dinnertime."

"Oi! I'm not a miscweant!" Onik defends. "And besides, you suwe awe one to talk. You got put in hewe for tweason!"

"Shut it, inferior," Ollu orders. "You and all your brothers are miscreants, in my opinion. How could men get in here, anyways? You're so _weak_."

Onik glares at her, but keeps silent. The Doctor looks down at his food and continues to eat, choosing to ignore the two tall, bug-like people.

"I like her," I whisper to him.

"Ollu?" he asks. "Yes, she is a rather interesting one, isn't she?"

"This whole planet is interesting," I tell him. "If we weren't imprisoned, I'd want to go see everything. I mean, it's kind of empowering, being part of the stronger sex for once. And watching the whole role reversal."

"I just like being in charge," the Doctor states. "Which, given these circumstances, is a bit more difficult here."

I shrug. "Maybe you'll come back here as a girl."

"I won't," he says.

I gulp. "Oh," I say, looking away and turning red at my mistake. "Yeah."

He frowns. "What is it?"

I glance at him. "Nothing. Just…" I lick my lips and take in a deep breath. "Do you ever doubt? You know, that it's going to happen? I mean, you've got reason to doubt. Don't you remember, back at my house all that time ago, seeing that advertisement on the television?"

"I can barely remember anything from that trip, to be quite honest," he says. "It's all fuzzy, I can't really reach it. In fact, if you had been gone any longer, I think I would've—" He jerks his head towards the entrance. "The guards are leaving. We've got to move."

I nod, slightly perturbed by his unfinished statement but needing to execute the plan. I look back to the others. "You guys ready?"

They all nod and stand up. I simultaneously look back at the other cellmates, who are busy eating and/or crawling into their cells. We advance towards the front, with the Doctor leading the way. We make it to the entrance of the cell block.

"Alright," the Doctor whispers, twisting the device a bit and pointing it at the force field. "Hopefully this works."

"Hopefully?" I whisper harshly.

"Well I haven't exactly _tested _it, and there is a chance that it might backfire and turn us all into a bunch of scattered particles," he admits. "But I have confidence that things will work our way."

"_What_."

He ignores me. "Alright," he says, and puts his finger on the middle section. "Do you have faith in me, Jenna?"

I gulp. "Not really, no."

He presses the button, and a choked whirring noise echoes through the block. I screw my eyes shut, but don't feel my body being ripped apart cell my cell. In fact, I'm just fine. I open them slowly. Everything is the same as it was before, except for the fact that the Doctor is walking through the doorway without a hitch, effortlessly gliding into the hallway.

"Good," he replies. "Now come on, you lot, let's get moving. And quick, too, before we get noticed."

We all hustle out of the cell and look to the left and right of the hallway.

"Ollu, you know where the hoard is, correct?" the Doctor wonders.

"'Course I do, what do you take me for?" Ollu asks, grinning. "It's to the left."

His eyes light up, like they did before, and the lopsided grin returns. It's a look I haven't seen in a long, long time.

"Geronimo."

**#**

**Hello!**

**Wow, this chapter took a lot longer than I thought it would. 9,000 words! I meant for it to be shorter, but unfortunately the dialogue got in the way and moved me back about a week. In fact, there was supposed to be more to this, but I've decided to put that into the next chapter. Hopefully it all works out.**

**Kudos to you if you can figure out who the brothers are based off of. It shouldn't be too hard, I think I might've given it away a bit too easy. Oh well. But yeah, the credit to those brothers goes where it rightfully should, they aren't exactly mine.**

**I'll see you in a bit, if this next segment doesn't take as long as this one.**

**Reviews are very much appreciated!**

**-JustStandingHere**


End file.
